Heart of a Diamond
by purplangel
Summary: AU. Rick's completed the Storm series and is looking for a female muse for inspiration. He hears about the stunning, illustrious Diamond through an exclusive men's club and decides he has to meet the high-end escort for himself. He's amazed by her hidden depths and floored by the realization that he just might not be man enough to handle her. (Romance/Angst)
1. Chapter 1

His heart stops when he sees her.

Of course he's heard about Diamond's beauty, lustrous as her name, with glossy streaks of thick hair, fascinating eyes that seem to change color in different lighting, with a killer body worth more than a 5-carat jewel, - but catching a glimpse of those legs that look like she's trained at the New York City Ballet Company and an ass that's as hard as her name, he actually stumbles, finds himself pitching forward as he thinks if her face comes anywhere near matching her body, he's done for.

His eyes follow her voluptuous form walking away from him in the ultramarine dress, her skin practically translucent as the fabric hugs the feminine curve of her hips and the smooth line of her ass, making his groin jump at the realization that she's not wearing anything underneath, not even a slutty thong.

The concierge, a short, blond man with hints of Irish heritage, is looking at him like he's seen this reaction a thousand times before and with a she's-way-outta-your-league-grin relays, "You've got twenty minutes with her before her bodyguard," he nods towards a Hispanic man with bulging muscles and an even bigger bulge under his jacket, (hiding what Castle speculates is a hefty Glock) "interrupts and makes sure payment is given for services rendered."

"Twenty minutes, huh?" Castle asks, figuring even an hour with her wouldn't be enough to satisfy him.

"Believe me when I say most men don't need that long."

"I can only imagine. Thanks for the heads-up concerning her Beefcake Bodyguard," and then he's strolling towards the unnerving man, holding his steely gaze, black eyes drilling holes into his ruggedly-handsome face.

Rick extends his hand and genuinely smiles, speaking in what he hopes is a gentlemanly manner. "I'm Rick Castle here to meet with the infamous Diamond."

The man doesn't reach for his hand but cooly checks him over, raking his eyes down his tall frame, sizing him up, evaluating how fast he can bring him down if it becomes necessary.

"Don't try anything with her," he warns, "or you won't like the consequences."

Rick holds his hands up in surrender, a teasing smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "Don't worry. I promise she'll stay as virtuous as she is right now. I only have a few questions for her."

The way the man glares at him clearly states that he isn't impressed with a namby-pamby author who used his celebrity status to finagle his way into his boss' life.

"Questions only," he reiterates before growling, "Follow me."

Rick kept up with the man, meeting stride for stride, as he escorted him down a plush, deserted hallway.

The hispanic nods his head towards Room 117 and then takes position outside the door, leaning back against the wall.

"She's ready for you," he drones, while folding his arms across his chest, leather jacket pulling taut across his abdomen, exposing a hint of gold.

It doesn't pass by the author's notice it could very well be an Officer's badge.

_There's more going on here than what I was led to originally believe. _

He looks at his reflection in the gilded mirror in the hallway and straightens his mauve Pancaldi tie before turning the handle to the suite.

It's dim inside the room. The blinds are drawn closed to keep the heat of the afternoon sun at bay. He sneaks a peek inside the posh restroom and notices Clive Christian perfume, Tracie Martyn face powder and _what the hell?_

He swallows nervously as there's a thigh holster lying near the sink.

He calls out, "Diamond?" making her aware of his presence but when he walks into the sitting room area her back is turned to him as she removes a delicate chain from around her neck, a wedding band dangling from it.

He gazes at her graceful back, the long, lean lines of muscle that have been contoured due to hours of yoga, the thin but muscular arms which tell him she can easily defend herself and he's transfixed, watching her carefully remove the necklace.

She turns to him, a coy smile lighting her features, and she breathes, "So you're the famous author, Richard Castle?" and then he's looking into the face of an exotic angel, exquisite bone-structure, prominent cheek-bones, skin as pure as freshly fallen snow, eyelashes sweeping as gently as a butterfly's wing, lips that look as soft and kissable as a baby's.

"Cat got your tongue, Mister Castle?"

His body immediately responds to the sensuality in her tone, her voice purring with undertones of, 'I like to be fucked senseless.'

"No," he smirks and reaches for her polished hand. "Just a little surprised that the rumors about your beauty **aren't** quite true."

As he clasps her hand in greeting, she quirks her eyebrow and laughs. A melodious sound which rumbles through his hand, ricochets across his chest and seems to pierce him straight through the heart.

"Well, I certainly haven't heard that line before. I have to give you props for the most original way to introduce yourself."

"'Originality' is my middle name. It comes naturally with the Writer territory."

"Mmm, a playboy author who happens to live with his mother and dote on his daughter?... I just may have to agree you have 'originality' written all over you."

"Now, I'm flattered." He flashes her his best, I'd-love-to-see-you-stark-naked-writhing-beneath-me, smiles. "I see you've been doing your homework on me."

Her eyes scan over to the end table where his last Derek Storm novel resides. "My body guard, Esposito," she informs him, "thought it might be a good idea to know a little about you before we met."

"He's a smart man."

"Yes… Among other things."

A tinge of something (he refuses to believe it could be jealousy) stabs at his gut at the implication of her words.

"I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice."

"Did I have a choice, Cas-sle?" and the way she says his last name, all creamy smooth like room-temperature butter, has him imagining her saying it while entwined in heavenly silk sheets.

"You always have a choice."

"Not in certain situations."

_Ahh, there's definitely a story here._ _This could very well take multiple meetings to pull out her secrets,_ and the thought alone has him fighting back his body's natural reaction to her.

"Would you like a drink?" She walks over to the bar and pulls out a bottle of expensive merlot; with a resounding 'pop', she removes the cork and pours the red liquid into a champagne glass.

_How the hell does she make pouring a fine wine look even sexy_? He grudgingly admits that this particular woman would make folding laundry look unbelievably hot.

"No, I'll get right down to business."

"Please do," and as she sips delicately at the wine, he can't seem to pull his eyes away from her tempting mouth.

"I understand you only service high-profile clientele."

"Yes, or rather," and she chuckles softly, "the men believe themselves to be high-profile."

"How does one make an appointment with you?"

"You're here, aren't you?" and she shakes her head from side to side, a growing smirk glistening her lips. "So you already know the answer to that question."

His laugh is full, boisterous and lights up his smoky-blue eyes. "I had to jump through hoops and practically sell my soul to get a meeting with you."

Her answering smile is natural with just a hint of flirtatiousness. "Most men do."

Well, he certainly can't argue with her there.

"Please have a seat," and she directs him to a high-back leather chair. She gracefully sits across from him, sitting down in one fluid motion that simply mesmerizes him. His eyes gravitate to her shimmery dress as the slit in front opens to expose a sinfully long leg.

His fingers curl to prevent himself from reaching out and ghosting across her silken flesh. His lips purse together, trying to prevent himself from drooling when she crosses one glorious gam over the other.

An image of Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct swirls to mind… Confident in her ability to leave any man a quivering mess of desire. There's a raw, sexual chemistry about Diamond that unnerves him as well as excites him like no other woman he's met before.

"How long have you been in the business?" he croaks, hoping that mini-Castle's growing enthusiasm doesn't offend her.

"I'm still considered to be green, so not very long."

_She's certainly being as evasive as possible_.

"As you know, I'm starting a new novel and my heroine is trying to get into the business... How should I approach her becoming a 'high-class call girl'?"

As her eyebrows draw together and a faint scowl spreads across her features, he immediately apologizes. "Forgive me. I believe the correct term is 'high-end Escort'."

"It's not like you apply for the job, you have to be invited."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you have to impress someone, possibly audition for the role?"

"Something like that," she chuckles and he believes he'll never tire of hearing her laugh. "I was on the streets for awhile, barely making it, worried how I'd last another day and then, thank God, someone with authority noticed my potential and recommended me for the position."

"Interesting. So I gather this 'person of authority' saved your life?"

"In a manner, yes."

"If you're willing, I'd love to hear more about him or her."

"Sorry, no. My past isn't an open book and I intend to keep it that way."

"Understood. How do your regular clients contact you?"

"An ad in the personal section of The Times."

"Is it true that you don't have a cell phone?"

"Correct. Cell phones are easily traced and anonymity in this business is crucial to success."

Beneath her words he easily interprets she's afraid of one or two of her (quote/unquote) upstanding clients and doesn't want them having knowledge about her whereabouts.

_Clever girl._

Scratch that. She's a dangerously gorgeous, clever woman who has hidden information that beckons to the writer in him.

Who's he kidding? Everything about her beckons to the man in him.

"Is it too personal a question to ask how much you charge?"

Her grin's mischievous and if he had to describe it to anyone else, he would've said, 'downright dirty' as well.

"You can't afford me, Writerboy," she hums, knowing exactly how she's affecting him as she swings her crossed leg back and forth, the toe of her four inch strappy heel ruffling his dress pants.

He clears his throat before ogling her from toe to head, starting with her delicate ankles, up along her thin shins, magnificent thighs, curvaceous hips, flat abs, and settling on the soft mounds of her breasts.

His lips start at a self-satisfied smirk and then grow into an over-the-top-egotistical grin, like he's just won the lottery or better yet, the Nobel peace prize.

His eyes finally drag up from the twin peaks and land on her green orbs, murky in their intensity as she openly studies him.

"I never pay for intimacy, Diamond," and his voice deepens, scraping along his vocal chords. "I excel at giving pleasure to a willing woman."

He watches in fascination as she tugs on her lower lip, pulling the plumpness into her lush mouth.

He can't stop himself from reaching out and sweeping away a lock of her mid-length hair, twirling the curl delicately between his fingers before placing the loose strand behind her ear. He's careful not to touch any portion of her skin, - the outer shell of her ear, or the dainty freckle that resides just below her ear, or the sexy Marilyn Monroe mole on her left cheek which seems to be calling his name, - afraid that if he touches her, even just barely skims her skin, he'll never be able to stop.

His eyes darken to a midnight blue as he focuses on her nibbling. "I only seduce a woman who can appreciate my unique, unselfish skills in the bedroom… If you're ever interested in learning about **real **pleasure, give me a call. I'd be more than happy to share my talents with you."

"I have to say, the rumors about you, Richard Castle," and her face fills with disappointment, lips down turning softly in displeasure, "seem to be grossly true."

_Shit_, he blew it. He's overstepped his bounds.

As he loses himself in the colorful depths of her eyes, the thought crosses his mind that he may have just met the one woman who's resistant to his charms, the one woman who'll make him earn the prize, and he determines right then and there, that Diamond will not be the one woman to slip away through his fingers.


	2. Chapter 2

He quickly tries to gain control of the situation by pulling out his dashing Casanova persona. "And may I say, the rumors about your beauty were greatly UNDER exaggerated."

"Thank you," she sighs but annoyance is radiating off her in waves and he can practically hear her thoughts of, "Damn typical male only thinking with one body part," and he's afraid she's going to cut this meeting short before he's even begun to get to know her.

He says with genuine remorse, "It seems I'm going to be doing quite a bit of apologizing to you today." His blue gaze bores effortlessly into hers. "I in no way, shape or form meant to offend you, Diamond. . . Please forgive my forwardness and chalk it up to being a stereotypical, stupid, virile man."

Her lips lift at his words into a pillow-soft smile and she nods her head in agreement. "I couldn't have said it better myself. . . You're definitely a stupid, umm - " and her lips purse together suggestively, "virile man."

She studies him openly, looking for any type of mistrust. Her eyes lose their wariness as she takes in his sober countenance and sorrowful, puppy-dog eyes.

He must pass her test because the next moment she's leaning towards him, perky breasts practically falling out of that sinfully tight dress as she asks, "Please tell me the truth."

_Eyes up, Rick. Eyes up._

As the seconds tick by and he finds himself falling under the weight of her stare, the weight of her spell, he honestly believes any man would find it hard to lie to her.

"Try me. It's in my nature to tell the truth."

She rolls those beautiful iris's in disbelief and asks, "How many times have you used that line on a woman before?"

His face splits into a large grin, crinkly eyes and dashing dimple, displaying his joy at her question.

"Only once and certainly not in the exact same way. . . When I was a junior in college, barely legal to drink, and with barely little experience might I add, my buddies hauled me to an exclusive establishment where escorts were readily available. I asked one particular busty blond in her early thirties if she'd like to experience real pleasure from a masterful author's hands and she'd laughed, saying for a thousand dollars that she would teach me all about the intricacies of a woman's body."

"I gather you took her up on her offer?" Diamond's voice is quiet but with an edge of excitement, betraying how interested she is in his answer.

"No, as I said before I've never paid for sex."

There's a resounding knock on the door and the next moment Esposito's voice filters through, "Boss, you've got ten minutes."

"Thanks," she calls, before turning her full attention back on the writer, eyes clouded over in mystery. "I'm afraid we've gotten off-topic and I'm a very busy woman."

_I don't doubt it__,_ he thinks, naughtily conjuring up a picture of her dressed in a virginal white lace teddy with delicate little bows straining between her breasts, just beckoning to be undone with his teeth. . . He crosses his legs in a painful attempt to curb mini Castle's enthusiasm but his effort is thwarted when he smells ripe cherries wafting off her silken skin.

"Were there any other questions you have for me?"

"Yes," but he refuses to say that half of them would end up with her sicing her bodyguard on him and having him promptly thrown out on his ass.

"How many years do most girls stay in the business?"

"It varies greatly. . . but most don't last longer than five years."

From the disheartened tone in her voice he gets the impression that it's not necessarily a choice for the girls to stay or quit the business, - that the decision isn't left up to them.

"Do you actively search for new girls to join the business?"

"No, it's an exclusive position and I wouldn't wish, - " she abruptly stops speaking, worry lines marring her pretty forehead, and he can easily interrupt that she doesn't wish this life on anyone else, but he wants to hear it out of her own mouth, needs her to trust him enough to divulge the personal information.

"Care to elaborate?" he coaxes.

"To an author, no."

"You sure know how to wound a man."

"It's ONE of my specialties," she purrs smokily.

_Oh God__,_ he curls his fingers into his palms, nails digging into the flesh as she definitely insinuated, 'fucking-is-my-top-specialty'.

The afternoon light filters in through the blinds, highlighting the soft curls which brush her shoulders, the creamy unblemished skin, her cheeks caressed with a hint of blush, and he believes she just might be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

He clears his throat before continuing, "I gather there's a certain amount of danger to the job, hence the disgruntled bodyguard outside your door."

"Correct. I've learned I have to take certain precautions in this line of work."

His chest tightens at the implications and he continues softly, "I can only imagine some of the horrors you've faced."

"Hmm, you're very astute, Mister Castle. . . Guess it comes with the writer territory."

"Ah, a backhanded compliment from the lady," and he winks outrageously at her. "Careful Diamond, or whoever's on the opposite end of the listening device taped just beneath the headboard, might believe you're smitten with me."

Her eyes open wide in surprise at his revelation and she chuckles, a cute chortle that has him wishing there wasn't a camera in the room so he could do something ungentlemanly and completely inappropriate, and . . .

"No chance of that," she teases, eyes sparkling with a, 'I-enjoy-putting-down-egotistical-men' glimmer. "You're definitely not my type. Tell me, have you ever had a woman refuse you before?"

"Refuse this ruggedly-handsome mug?" His fingers rub across his angular jaw line, drawing her eyes down his smooth face. "Why don't you have dinner with me and we can discuss it in depth?"

"That's a resounding, NO."

"Not even a, 'I don't think so,' or 'I'll have to check my calendar,' Or a, 'Maybe, - if you find some manners?'"

She fails to hold back a beaming smile which displays perfectly straight white teeth, and he's unbelievably giddy knowing at least she enjoys his sense of humor.

His hand covers his heart and he says with dramatic flair, "It's just a good thing I don't discourage easily because you have a talent for putting men in their place."

"Only men who believe they're God's gift to women."

"What if I happen to be able to back up that claim?"

Her lips slightly part and his mind automatically drifts to thoughts of crushing her lush mouth, - using his talented, clever tongue to punish her, - transfer some of the scalding lava that's running through his veins into her.

He longs to give her a taste of her own sensuality as he claims that delectable mouth and determines whether she sighs or moans - - or just stays silent in his arms.

She quips merrily, "You are full of yourself, aren't you?"

He doesn't speak, just focuses on her gorgeous, cat-like eyes and wonders whether or not she's a screamer. . . Is she cool, collected, controlled under a lover's touch or do litanies of profanity break through her lips as she comes?

The thought of faceless men touching her, - old, stuffy, rich men plundering her sweetness has his gut churning in distaste and his breath catches. . .

"I've taken up enough of your time," he says sincerely, hoping his change of tactic surprises her, makes her somewhat curious about him. "Thank you for your willingness to assist me."

"As I said earlier, I wasn't given much of a choice."

"It's been the highlight of my day meeting you, Diamond," he drawls. (No way in hell he'll ever divulge it's been the highlight of his year and possibly his life as well)

He grasps her hand and raises it lovingly to his lips, eyes never wavering from hers as his mouth opens suggestively along the back of her palm.

"I'll leave a business card with your bodyguard, just in case you think of something else that may," his tongue slyly snakes out and soaks his lower lip, "help with my research."

By the way her eyes float to his lips, he knows without a doubt she's not immune to the sexual undercurrent pulsing between them, but her body language and damn sassy attitude say otherwise.

_The devastating minx._

"No need to leave your card. The only place you'll be seeing me again is in your dreams."

She throws him a brazen, cheeky smile that radiates, I-don't-entertain-flamboyant-womanizers-who-think-they-can-bed-me-at-the-drop-of-a-hat.

"Goodbye, Mister Castle. It was very enlightening meeting you." She stands up and turns away from him, all lean legs and sashaying hips and is out the suite door before he can blink twice.

_Oh Fuck!_

He wipes a hand across his brow wondering when the last time he felt this inadequate around a woman, - _if_ _ever__, -_ because in just 15 minutes, Diamond had done what he thought was impossible, - made him question whether or not he was charming enough, good-looking enough, man enough to ensnare a perfect ten woman.

_Let the games begin__,_ he thinks smugly as he picks up the delicate chain and fondles the antique ring in his fingers, seeing 'J &amp; J Forever' engraved in the gold band.

He leaves her suite, a boyish grin adorning his face as he approaches the uptight hispanic, noticing his stiff posture and steamy beady eyes.

_Uh-Oh, trouble between the lady and her bodyguard__,_ and his grin widens to egotistical proportions because he invariably knows the trouble is _HIM._

He stands close to Esposito, invading his personal space and with an air of, 'Yes, I'm the man,' stuffs his business card in the hispanic's leather jacket. "Don't lose this card as I'm expecting to hear from her again very soon."

"Not happening, bro," the Hispanic grates, glaring daggers at the author.

As he's walking away, it doesn't even bother him when he hears the bodyguard ripping the card to shreds, because he's got an almost fool proof plan. . . One where the illustrious Diamond will be calling him and seeking him out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Diamond's / Kate's POV**

**...**

If she didn't owe Captain Roy Montgomery her life, she wouldn't have agreed to meet the writer.

Richard Castle, author extraordinaire, flamboyant womanizer and officially a top-notch cad in her book wants to meet her, an up and coming escort with Mommy issues.

How did she get to be so damn UNlucky?

_No__,_ she tries to convince herself, the skip in her beating heart isn't excitement over meeting her favorite author.

_No_, she's not hoping he's as good-looking or quirkily brilliant or quite as notorious for his skills in the bedroom, as the tabloids portray.

_No,_ adrenaline isn't rushing through her system over her expectations of him.

And no, (her eyes swipe over his jacket photo one more time) she hasn't been glancing at his picture all morning long thinking if he's just as handsome in person, she might throw caution to the wind and break her number one rule.

She approaches the concierge desk, all sweet sophistication for the one man whom she knows has her back.

She's extremely lucky to have a kind-hearted pimp who truly cares about his girls, does research on the men first to make sure they're reputable, decent, without a hidden violent streak. She's grateful the Captain recommended Kevin Ryan to her after that fateful day a year ago as she honestly doesn't know where she'd be if he hadn't of rescued her. . . She'd needed someone to save her from herself, be a friend as well as a protector, be the brother she never had, and Ryan certainly fit the bill.

"This one's easy, Diamond," the Irishman spoke warmly. "No need to worry. Just a curious author who wants to gather information from the best."

"Nothing's ever easy. Especially with a man who's notorious for being the next Casanova."

"I'm confidant you can handle him or I wouldn't have allowed the meeting."

"Oh, I can handle him all right," she drawls. "It's satisfying his curiosity I'm worried about. . . Has Esposito arrived?"

"Yes, he's making sure the recording equipment is set up properly in your room."

"Is there a concern with Mister Castle?"

"No. You know my motto though: It's better to be safe than sorry."

"I couldn't agree with you more. . . When you see the author, please tell him I'm ready for him.

Ryan's easy, light laughter lifts her spirits and calms her fraying nerves. "The question is, - is he ready for you?"

"Is any man?" she quips with a bright, confidant grin, - twirling her mother's ring around her neck for the second time that day.

"No heterosexual man," he agrees. "You look extremely lovely this afternoon. . . The poor man doesn't stand a chance."

_No, he doesn't,_ she thinks humorously while thanking Ryan for the compliment, and she strolls away from him nonchalantly, tamping down her sixth sense which is screaming she might very well be the one who doesn't stand a chance.

She briefly speaks to Esposito before heading to her room. "Impress upon Mister Castle the only thing that's going to happen between us is TALKING**.**"

"You got it, Diamond," her part-time bodyguard replies, flashing his overtly-masculine smile which betrays how much he loves showing her clients who's in charge.

She heads into her room and turns on the listening device, knowing Esposito records his conversations with her clients, hoping she can glean a bit of information about the writer before she sees him.

She taps her 4-inch strappy heel impatiently and about jumps out of her skin when she first hears his voice, - rich, deep, smooth as Richard Hennessy cognac.

"I'm Rick Castle here to meet with the infamous Diamond."

_Oh Gawd__,_ he sounds exactly as she imagined, - sensual, dangerous, with a bad-boy vibe that emanates through every syllable.

"Don't try anything with her," Esposito warns, "or you won't like the consequences."

She smirks at her ever-faithful bodyguard's threatening tone and is grateful she isn't pouring herself a drink when she hears Castle's response, or the expensive merlot would've spilled everywhere.

"Don't worry. I promise she'll stay as virtuous as she is right now. I only have a few questions for her."

_Kate, you're in serious trouble__,_ because her weakness is a charming, self-assured man with a sense of humor, - and this one sounds like he's smug, funny and .._._

"Questions only," Espo growls. "Follow me."

She quickly turns off the monitor and dabs her favorite perfume on her wrists as well as behind her knees, a fruity concoction with the distinct scent of cherries.

She doesn't want to give him a clue as to how unsettled she is, (no need to boost his ego) so she decides to remove her necklace to prevent her hands from fiddling with it.

She hears the door to her suite open, and a few seconds later he calls her name, but her back is to him as he enters the sitting area. She finishes removing the necklace and sets it aside before turning to face him.

With a coy smile, she breathes, "So you're the famous author, Richard Castle?" and _Wow . . . _ She's suddenly staring into eyes bluer than a bed of blue hydrangeas and look kinder and gentler than Mother Teresa.

She's taken back by his obvious admiration of her beauty. His pupils dilate and his mouth falls slightly open as his eyes rake over her face and he looks so adorably dumbstruck that she can't help teasing, "Cat got your tongue, Mister Castle?"

"No," he smirks and reaches for her polished hand. "Just a little surprised the rumors about your beauty AREN'T quite true."

Her eyebrow quirks as the laughter bubbles up and over, spiraling out of her chest, and she's surprisingly pleased the man is as smooth-as-his-voice.

"Well, I certainly haven't heard that line before. I have to give you props for the most original way to introduce yourself."

"'Originality' is my middle name. It comes naturally with the Writer territory."

"Mmm, a playboy author who happens to live with his mother and dote on his daughter? . . . I just may have to agree, - you have 'originality' written all over you."

"Now, I'm flattered." He flashes her a, 'I'm-going-to-have-the-time-of-my-life-making-you-my-next-conquest,' smile. "I see you've been doing your homework on me."

Did she actually let that slip? She'll never live it down if he finds out she's a fan.

Her eyes scan over to the end table where his latest Derek Storm novel resides. "My body guard, Esposito," she informs him, "thought it might be a good idea to know a little about you before we met."

"He's a smart man."

"Yes. . . Among other things," and she tempers a grin thinking the author would get a kick out of learning Esposito's a homicide Detective.

"I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice."

The sincerity in his tone seeps through her skin and draws goosebumps along her flesh.

"Did I have a choice, Cas-sle?" she purrs, slipping easily into Diamond's persona, enjoying the effect she's having on him.

"You always have a choice."

"Not in certain situations," flies out of her mouth before she thinks about it and then she silently berates herself for raising his curiosity about her personal life.

She can't handle another complication in her life right now. . . Especially one of the 6 foot 2, blue-eyed kind.

"Would you like a drink?" she asks, needing to put some distance between her and his massively broad chest and masculine thighs and the undeniable aura of, 'I-can-bring-a-woman-to-ecstasy-in-less-than-five-minutes-flat'.

She walks over to the bar and takes a deep breath, pulling out the Italian merlot and with a resounding 'pop', removes the cork and pours the red liquid into a champagne glass, hoping her slightly-shaky fingers are hidden from view.

"No, I'll get right down to business," he says firmly and she sighs in gratitude because the sooner this meeting's over, the better.

She's not used to feeling this frazzled, upended in her own territory, especially by a man.

"Please do," she replies and sips delicately at the wine, noticing his eyes are pulled to her lips.

"I understand you only service high-profile clientele."

"Yes, or rather," she chuckles softly, "the men believe themselves to be high-profile."

"How does one make an appointment with you?"

"You're here, aren't you?" and she shakes her head from side to side, a growing smirk glistening her lips at the eagerness in his voice. "So you already know the answer to that question."

His laugh is full, boisterous and lights up his smoky-blue eyes. . . She believes they just might be the most beautiful eyes she's ever seen before on a man.

"I had to jump through hoops and practically sell my soul to get a meeting with you."

Her answering smile is natural with just a hint of flirtatiousness. "Most men do."

She directs him to a high-back leather chair, far enough away that his European cologne isn't distracting her and yet, close enough so she can read him easily and possibly tease him mercilessly. "Please have a seat."

As she sits across from him, his eyes noticeably drop to her legs, and she finds herself curious about whether he's a leg or breast man. She allows the slit in the front of her dress to open sinfully, exposing 80% of her thigh and with a seductive, 'I-know-exactly-how-I'm-affecting-you' smile, crosses one leg over the other, swinging the crossed leg temptingly towards him.

The croak in his voice as well as _umm_, the delightful, growing problem in his pants, tells her he's more of a leg man.

"How long have you been in the business?"

"I'm still considered to be green, so not very long," skirting particulars that she doesn't want generally known.

"As you know, I'm starting a new novel and my heroine is trying to get into the business. . . How should I approach her becoming a 'high-class call girl'?"

She cringes at the term, 'call girl,' bloody well hates it, and it must show in her appearance as the author immediately apologizes. "Forgive me. I believe the correct term is 'high-end Escort'."

She smothers the notion that he might even be sexier when he's remorseful.

"It's not like you apply for the job, you have to be invited."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you have to impress someone, possibly audition for the role?"

He's gazing at her as if she's a rare piece of artwork. . . Titian's "Venus of Urbino" comes to mind as his eyes trail over her form.

"Something like that," she chuckles, hoping to short-circuit the electricity in the room. "I was on the streets for awhile, barely making it, worried how I'd last another day and then, thank God, someone with authority noticed my potential and recommended me for the position."

"Interesting. So I gather this 'person of authority' saved your life?"

"In a manner, yes."

"If you're willing, I'd love to hear more about him or her."

"Sorry, no. My past isn't an open book and I intend to keep it that way."

She won't allow a probing author with a face as appealing as George Clooney, and a body that puts Bruce Willis to shame, to try and unbury all the juicy tidbits of her past.

Ryan's insight filters through her thoughts. "What you need, Diamond, is a good, gentle, successful man who's still in touch with his inner child. One who can value you for who you truly are and not just focus on the sex symbol you portray."

She'd laughingly told him that that man didn't exist in the entire state of New York, and this author sitting across from her certainly doesn't fall into the category. . . At least, she won't allow herself the chance to get to know him enough to find out.

"Understood," Castle said sincerely. "How do your regular clients contact you?"

"An ad in the personal section of The Times."

"Is it true you don't have a cell phone?"

"Correct. Cell phones are easily traced and anonymity in this business is crucial to success."

_More like crucial to staying alive__,_ but she isn't willing to divulge that information.

"Is it too personal a question to ask how much you charge?"

She knew the question was coming, - expected it even, - but with him asking all devilishly, with wicked bright eyes, she can't help but respond in kind.

"You can't afford me, Writerboy," she hums, swinging her crossed leg back and forth, purposefully ruffling his, 'I'm-a-bad-man-in-this-business-suit', pant leg with her strappy toe.

A rush of heat slides to her loins as he openly ogles her from toe to head, - starting with her delicate ankles, up along her shins, thighs, curvaceous hips, flat abs, and settling on the soft mounds of her breasts.

_Jesus__,_ she can practically feel the pads of his fingers caressing her flesh while he systematically undresses her with his eyes.

His full lips, no doubt born to kiss, start at a self-satisfied smirk and then grow into an over-the-top-egotistical grin, man-pride oozing from his outrageous smile. As his eyes finally drag up from the twin peaks and land on hers, she senses what he's going to say.

"I never pay for intimacy, Diamond. . . I excel at giving pleasure to a willing woman."

_Fuck,_ _this man is good,_ and h_ow the hell does he make his voice sound straight out of a porno film?_

She tugs on her lower lip, pulling the plumpness into her mouth, wondering what lengths he'll go to, to try and bed her.

She's mesmerized as he reaches out and sweeps away a lock of her mid-length hair, twirling the curl delicately between his fingers before placing the loose strand behind her ear. She feels the heat radiating from his fingers, expects him to caress the outer shell of her ear, or swipe down the smooth line of her neck but disappointingly so, his touch never finds her flesh.

His eyes darken to a rough midnight hue as he restrains himself from touching her, focuses on her nibbling.

"I only seduce a woman who can appreciate my unique, unselfish skills in the bedroom. . . If you're ever interested in learning about real pleasure, give me a call. I'd be more than happy to share my talents with you."

It impales her then, like a Gladiator's battle sword, the utterly dangerous man Richard Castle could be to her. . .

She's used to being in control, commandeering the situation, only letting a man close enough to skim the surface but never letting him get under her skin.

Somehow, almost instantaneously, this way-too-handsome-for-his-own-good-author with a devil-may-care attitude, is clawing into her flesh with every husk of his voice and fevered glance, giving her the clear impression she'd enjoy every minute of it, _of_ _him_, if she'd only let her guard down and relinquish the reins.

That's NEVER going to happen.

She has a strict code, one she lives by religiously, and this man, whose torrid gaze is piercing her soul, trying to ignite a fire within her that has long since been dormant, is not going to break her.

No man ever has, or EVER will.

"I have to say, the rumors about you, Richard Castle," and her face fills with disappointment, lips down turning softly in displeasure, "seem to be grossly true."


	4. Chapter 4

**Continuing Diamond's / Kate's POV**

**...**

The words were meant to sting, hopefully to discourage his advances, but she's surprised by his reaction, - the forlorn, hurt look in his eyes, the air of a wounded man.

She's undeniably nicked a chink in his Casanova-armor, and she's grasping at straws, wondering how she feels about being the one to cause him pain, but not willing to analyze her feelings too closely.

He flounders for a moment before good manners kick in and he replies, "And may I say, the rumors about your beauty were greatly UNDER exaggerated."

"Thank you," she sighs, honestly intrigued by the hidden depths to this man as he's purely more than just an egotistical womanizer like the tabloids portray.

Castle says with genuine remorse, "It seems I'm going to be doing quite a bit of apologizing to you today." His blue gaze bores effortlessly into hers, reflecting sorrow. "I in no way, shape or form meant to offend you, Diamond. . . Please forgive my forwardness and chalk it up to being a stereotypical, stupid, virile man."

_Yep, it's now confirmed. He's 100% sexier when he's remorseful._

She nods her head in agreement, can't help smirking at his self-derision. "I couldn't have said it better myself. . . You're definitely a stupid, umm - " and her lips purse together suggestively as she contemplates just how virile a man he really is, - "virile man."

She studies him openly, - his regal blue, playful orbs, - soft lines surrounding his mouth and eyes revealing hours of laughter, - the furrowed line between his eyebrows signifying intense concentration, - the wide, full lips which were destined to make a woman scream.

"Please tell me the truth," and she hates the breathy begging of her voice. She leans forward in anticipation of his response and silently basks in the power she has over him when his eyes immediately zero in on her breasts.

She can practically feel her nipples tingling from his, 'I-am-the-master-at-making-a-woman-come', body language.

As the seconds tick by, she finds herself swirling in a vortex of yearning with him, the weight of his desire pressing into her, taking her breath away.

"Try me. It's in my nature to tell the truth."

She rolls her eyes in disbelief, wondering if he really is as suave and downright debonair as he portrays to be, and asks, "How many times have you used that line on a woman before?"

His face splits into a large grin, crinkly eyes and dashing dimple, displaying his joy at her question.

"Only once and certainly not in the exact same way. . . When I was a junior in college, barely legal to drink, and with barely little experience might I add, my buddies hauled me to an exclusive establishment where escorts were readily available. I asked one particular busty blond in her early thirties if she'd like to experience real pleasure from a masterful author's hands and she'd laughed, saying for a thousand dollars that she would teach me all about the intricacies of a woman's body."

"I gather you took her up on her offer?" and she hopes he can't decipher the curiosity in her voice as she wills her eyes to stay aligned with his, refusing to cave to the desire to drop them dangerously to his crotch.

"No, as I said before I've never paid for sex."

_Mmm, that's a serious, fuckin turn-on._

Thank God there's a resounding knock on the door to interrupt Castle's, 'I-can't-wait-to-slowly-peel-off-all-of-your-clothes,' demeanor and the next moment Esposito's voice filters through, "Boss, you've got ten minutes."

"Thanks," she calls, deciding it's time to defuse this chemistry time bomb, end this flirtatious fun that's making her feel unhinged and slightly out of control, not her usual bad-ass self.

She definitely needs to get back to work.

"I'm afraid we've gotten off-topic and I'm a very busy woman."

Her eyes are drawn to his legs as he crosses one over the other. Long, strong, massive muscles with the ability, she bets, to go all night long.

Focus Kate, Focus.

She asks a touch abruptly, "Were there any other questions you have for me?"

"Ye - sz," but from the intentional husk in his voice she gets the impression several of them are naughty, and he doesn't have the balls to ask.

"How many years do most girls stay in the business?"

"It varies greatly," and her voice softens at the implications, "but most don't last longer than five years."

She can tell by the slight narrowing of his eyes that he's gleaned the truth from her that it's not necessarily up to the girls whether or not they stay in the business.

"Do you actively search for new girls to join the business?"

"No, it's an exclusive position and I wouldn't wish, - " she can't fathom how this man seems to be a 'truth magnet' for her, with an uncanny ability to start her talking and accidentally spilling things, - secrets which need to remain hidden.

Her eyebrows scrunch together as she debates about whether or not to end this meeting early, not willing to divulge anything more private about her life, and yet, unwilling for it to come back and bite Montgomery in the ass if she isn't cooperative.

"Care to elaborate?" he coaxes.

"To an author, no."

"You sure know how to wound a man."

She can't help herself as he's just so damn adorable when she teases him mercilessly so she purrs smokily, "It's one of my specialties," knowing that he'll naturally infer, 'fucking' is her primary one.

He doesn't disappoint as his batting eyelashes and clogged throat and obvious growing arousal indicate where his dirty mind has gone.

He clears his throat before asking, "I gather there's a certain amount of danger to the job, hence the disgruntled bodyguard outside your door."

"Correct. I've learned I have to take certain precautions in this line of work."

He looks at her, blue-eyes tender pools of concern. "I can only imagine some of the horrors you've faced."

"Hmm, you're very astute, Mister Castle. . . Guess it comes with the writer territory."

"Ah, a backhanded compliment from the lady," and his outrageous wink makes her toes curl. "Careful Diamond, or whoever's on the opposite end of the listening device taped just beneath the headboard, might believe you're smitten with me."

She opens her eyes wide in surprise at his revelation and she chuckles, a cute chortle which she's afraid betrays he just might be right.

"No chance of that," she teases, not willing to let him have the upper hand. "You're definitely not my type. Tell me, - have you ever had a woman refuse you before?"

"Refuse this ruggedly-handsome mug?" His fingers rub across his angular jaw line, drawing her eyes down his smooth face. "Why don't you have dinner with me and we can discuss it in depth?"

But there's no, 'just dinner,' with this man as his voice implies a sweaty, steamy night amongst luxurious Scandia linens for dessert.

"That's a resounding, NO," but her heart's running rampant in her chest, yelling to rescind her answer, just let loose for once, give into temptation and let him cater to her every need.

"Not even a, 'I don't think so,' or 'I'll have to check my calendar,' Or a, 'Maybe, - if you find some manners?'"

Her unabashed, care-free smile breaks free, all straight, white teeth and healthy gums. . . She fervently hopes she isn't giving away her thoughts of, '_This man shouldn't be allowed to roam free among the unsuspecting female population.'_

Castle's hand covers his heart and he says with dramatic flair, "It's just a good thing I don't discourage easily because you have a talent for putting men in their place."

"Only men who believe they're God's gift to women."

"What if I happen to be able to back up that claim?"

Her lips slightly part as his words conjure up a room scattered with rose petals, a roaring fireplace, thick, lamb rug and his gloriously nude body splayed out next to her.

Those spell-binding eyes are honing in on her as if her flesh is a writer's notebook and he can't wait to write words of uncontrollable lust &amp; beauty along every fine edge and soft surface, - using his tongue as his pen.

"You are full of yourself, aren't you?"

And then he does something she never would've expected, something that no man has ever done before, leaving an indelible imprint of him on her mind, _the sneaky bastard._

He actually ends their session early.

"I've taken up enough of your time," he says sincerely. "Thank you for your willingness to assist me."

She tries to bring the ball back in her court by quipping, "As I said earlier, I wasn't given much of a choice."

"It's been the highlight of my day meeting you, Diamond," he drawls and as his hand grasps hers, a jolt of awareness skyrockets up her arm.

She's mesmerized as he raises her hand lovingly to his lips, eyes never wavering from hers as his mouth opens suggestively along the back of her palm.

Her insides quiver and turn to a molten mess, and she refuses to admit the only person who can assuage this burning is the one who caused it in the first place.

"I'll leave a business card with your bodyguard, just in case you think of something else that may," his tongue slyly snakes out and soaks his lower lip, "help with my research."

Oh Gawd, by his, 'I'm-never-going-to-forget-the-way-you-look-right-now,' expression and the sensual swipe across his lower lip, she knows those lips will be calling her name the next time he satisfies his baser, carnal need.

The man before her is pure and simple a walking, talking sexual temptation and she can't deal with that particular complexity in her life right now. . . Especially since Captain Montgomery and Esposito have finally made some progress in her mother's case.

The lady in her, the one who can't remember the last time she didn't fake an orgasm, the one who's buried beneath the rubble of her mother's murder, longs for the day when she can trust a man enough to give into him completely, surrender herself willingly and without reservation, and find the release she's been looking for, the intimacy her body craves.

Her heart whispers to give Castle a chance, his kind blue eyes portraying he could possibly be that man, but a tinge of fear weaves its way along her spine, scaring her shitless.

She needs to get back in control of the situation and end this before it's even begun.

"No need to leave your card. The only place you'll be seeing me again is in your dreams."

She throws him a devastating smile as a parting gift. "Goodbye, Mister Castle. It was very enlightening meeting you."

Before he can respond, she stands up and turns away from him, walking quickly to the suite door. She congratulates herself on successfully fighting the urge to turn back around and look once more at his incredibly handsome face. . .

As the door closes behind her, she comes face to face with her bodyguard, dark eyes flashing in righteous anger.

"Jesus, Diamond," Espo scolds, "You were supposed to curb his curiosity, throw him a few bread crumbs, not awaken the beast. . . You may have compromised the entire operation."

"I know, I know," she rakes her hand through her hair in frustration. "I take full responsibility. Make sure Mister Castle understands this was his first and LAST meeting with me. I've got to speak with Montgomery," and then she's rushing down the hallway, wanting to put as much space between her and the 6 foot 2, walking, talking, breathing temptation as possible.


	5. Chapter 5

As soon as Rick leaves the hotel, he takes Diamond's necklace into a jeweler he knows he can trust and asks the owner to please supervise the repair himself as he noticed the clasp is loose.

"Please be careful with the necklace as the chain is delicate. I'd like the clasp replaced as well as the wedding ring cleaned."

The tone of his voice must give him away as Rahjid asks, "Ah, Mizter Castle, you care about this lady, huh?"

_Care to fuck her, yes__,_ but his heart suddenly constricts at the thought, betraying it could easily become more than just physical with her.

"Is it that obvious?" he chuckles. "Yes, she's someone special and there's a large tip in it for you if I can pick it up tomorrow."

"It'z not a problem. Only the bezt for you."

"My sincere thanks, Rahjid."

It takes less than 24 hours for her pimp to call him, upset about him snooping through Diamond's suite and taking something personal of hers.

"Mister Ryan, please accept my apology. Diamond stormed out of the suite so quickly I didn't have the chance to tell her I noticed the clasp on her necklace was loose. . . I looked for her in the lobby of the hotel, but as you already know, she left immediately after our meeting." He pauses, lets his words sink in, hoping he doesn't read between the lines.

"I've seen a lot of different tricks in my time to get Diamond's attention, but this one is a new low. . . I'm pleased to tell you it backfired. . . Bring her necklace to me within the next two hours or I'm slapping a burglary charge on your ass."

He knew it could possibly go this way, hell, even expected it, but he wasn't going to let an overprotective Irishman or a bulldozer bodyguard stop him from seeing her again.

"We both know the charges won't stick as I have the Mayor on speed dial. Rest assured, she will get her necklace back. The repair should be done in three days so I'm happy to bring it to her this Friday. I'll accommodate any time she requests."

"You won't be seeing her again," Ryan reinforced. "You can bring it directly to me. This week, I'll be staying at the Ritz Carlton. You can drop it off at the front desk."

"If she wants the jewelry back, my one condition is she meets me face to face," his forceful tone brooks, 'no argument'. "It's non-negotiable. . . If she'd rather, she can give me a monetary value of the chain and wedding ring. I'm willing to pay any amount she deems necessary."

Rick crosses his fingers in hopes the sentimental value of the necklace is worth more to her than the actual money.

"You do realize you're playing with fire?"

_Oh I certainly do. . . The most beautiful flame I hope to ever be singed by._

Ryan rushes on, "And let me warn you, you don't want to trifle with this ball of fire. I've seen many men get irreparably burned."

"I don't doubt it, but I'm willing to take the chance. . . If I promise to never bother you or Diamond again, will you give her my message?"

"You've put me in a precarious spot as I hate to be manipulated, but even more so, I hate to see Diamond in that position."

Castle's laughter is buoyant and lightens the mood between them. "I don't think **any** man could ever manipulate her. From just the short amount of time I've spent with her, she exudes a rare self-confidence I've never seen in a woman before. She's amazingly beautiful, effervescent, as well as intelligent. She's definitely one-of-a-kind."

"I couldn't agree with you more. . . It seems you've already fallen under her spell."

"Something like that," Rick answers, thinking he'd love her 'spell' to wrap around his torso and boldly take him, torture him senseless where he can't even remember his own name.

Ryan chuckles, "As long as I don't have to hear your radio-ad voice again, I'll put in a good word for you."

_Well, chalk one up for her likeable pimp._

"Rest assured, I'm as good-as-my-word. I'm sure Mayor Weldon vouched for me or I wouldn't have been able to meet with her in the first place."

"He did. I can't promise she'll meet with you, but I will relay your message."

"That's all I'm asking for."

"That's all you'll be asking for period," Ryan states with finality and then the line's dead, buzzing loudly in his ear.

...

He can't believe he misses her call, stuck in a horrendously boring meeting at Hyperion.

As he listens to her voicemail, hears the underlying anger in her tone, his groin starts to throb in cadence with his heart. . .

_How does she sound even fuckin' sexier with malice dripping from her tone?_

She's clipped, rushed and gets straight to the point, telling him she'll be at the Asiate Restaurant inside the Mandarin Oriental Hotel this Friday night between 6 - 8 pm.

"You can drop by anytime but I'm letting you know in advance that I'll be _working_."

It's easy to interpret from the emphasis on 'working,' she's going to try and raise his hackles by touting another man in front of him, _the tempting seductress._

And then she closes with, "I'll only be able to spare a few minutes for you."

_I'll only need a few minutes if all goes according to plan__,_ but his gut churns with nervousness, knowing he'll have to use every trick in the Casanova handbook to try and impress her and even then, he could very well fall short in her eyes.

He doesn't believe he's ever been this tied up in knots over a woman before, or had to work this hard to vie for a woman's attention.

And even worse, he has to keep shoving down the notion that the stakes have never been higher for his own personal happiness.

...

He doesn't need to see her haunting, gold-flecked eyes dance in his direction to know she's close by, doesn't need to see her dark tresses looped up in an elegant twist, blush highlighting her model cheekbones, doesn't need to see those skyscraper legs which remind him of Bar Refaeli's, - he only needs to hear her tinkling laughter and his eyes are pulled across the crowded restaurant directly to her.

She's facing him, eyes alight with mischief as she laughs at something her companion has just said.

She's a vision in white wearing a silk halter dress, the plunging neckline exposing hints of luscious, swelled breasts. With her hair up, her oval face is more pronounced, the lean line of her neck open to him, beckoning him to sink his teeth into the creamy skin of her jugular.

After just a few moments of staring at her heavenly beauty, sex appeal dripping from her flesh with every blink of her thick lashes and lift of her baby pink lips, - the blood pools south, making him achingly hard in an embarrassingly short time.

He doubts if his reaction to her will diminish with time, - doubts if he'll ever get enough of her, - can picture a thousand different ways to make them both shatter in ecstasy.

It's as if a magnetic cloud descends upon the room and the current quickly, inexplicably sparks and ensnares them, her eyes crashing into his.

Her hazel orbs reflect something mystical, exciting, and a surge of desire pulses through his veins as she rises from her chair.

She walks towards him with purpose, all alluring feminine form, the full length gown swaying at her ankles adorned in Jimmy-Choo-fuck-me-lavender-heels. Her body's siren call makes him lick his lips in anticipation, desiring to haul her to the nearest secluded room, (even a coat or janitor's closet would do) anywhere where they can be alone and he can worship her delectable curves the way she deserves. . .

Her eyes are flaming and her walk is stilted and _bloody hell,_ she's not wearing a bra, her pebbled nipples calling his name with each and every step she takes.

Everything about her screams she's furious with him; he can practically see the steam rising from off her body as she advances towards him with dire intentions.

_How do I direct her righteous anger towards the bedroom?_ he thinks before she's right in front of him, cheeks fraught with color, lips pursed in agitation, her glorious chest heaving from the effort.

_Forget the beefy bodyguard, I'm not going to survive her,_ and he pastes on his, 'I'm-really-just-a-lovable-huggable-teddy-bear-beneath-the-Casanova-persona,' smile.

"Diamond, how lovely to see you again," he greets her warmly, all male dashing personality with killer-sexy motives, but before he can continue, she's interrupting him.

"Don't say another word."

Her icy tone has him fidgeting, worrying he won't be charming or brilliant enough to pull himself out of the hole he's dug himself into.

She holds out her hand, palm face up in a cupping shape, speaking abruptly, "My necklace please."

He pulls the chain out of his front pocket, his thumb rubbing over the antique ring, and with pleading eyes asks, "May I just have five minutes? Can we please sit down so I can explain something to you?"

"Let you explain why you're such a jack-ass? Let you explain how you get your jollies stealing jewelry from unsuspecting women? Let you explain why you felt justified taking something priceless from me, - that it was the only way you could think of to see me again?" Her eyes rake over his face, distaste painting her beautiful features. "No thank you. I've heard it all before. Our business is done, Mister Castle."

His eyes spark midnight blue as her words cut deep, a shard of pain pricking its way through his bloodstream, rushing towards his heart.

_Does she really see me as such a callous bastard?_

His eyes never leave hers as his voice drops low, filled with emotion. "I wanted to explain why I was drawn to the necklace in the first place. . . Why the inscription on the ring touched something deep within me. Why, - when I noticed the clasp was loose, I couldn't stop myself from picking it up and taking it to a jeweler whom I trust, who I knew would take special care of it, . . . but it's obvious my impulsiveness was a mistake. I apologize for being intrusive, for overstepping my bounds. I never meant to hurt you, Diamond. Hopefully, you'll be able to forgive me one day."

Unconsciously he moves towards her, his hands aching to touch her flawless skin at least once, hoping to file away the sensory memory and pull it back up again on long, lonely nights.

The next moment he's standing behind her, inhaling vanilla and cherry blossoms, hating how her scent will fuel his wet dreams for many months to come.

His hands slightly shake as he places the chain around her neck, his fingers skimming the delicate arch of her collarbone. He pauses as an indescribable urge assails him to place his lips in the crook of her neck, taste the sweetness hidden there.

"Don't worry, you'll never have to see me again," floats over her ear in a whisper-pained caress while he clasps the necklace completely.

She's turns around, - all liquid hazel, questioning orbs but he misses it as his eyes are embedded on the ring nestled softly in the valley of her breasts.

"Beautiful," he says with sensual undertones. "You should never take if off. It's right where it belongs, - close to your heart."

He turns away from her, determined to get as far away as possible from her hourglass figure and brutal, cunning lips that know how to destroy a man.

"Cas - tle," she calls but he just keeps walking, determined to reach the bar and lose himself in a potent bottle of whiskey.

It's not her second attempt to reach him which has him stopping in his tracks, but the tell-tale, deep voice of a livid man which makes him pause.

"Diamond, I'm the one who's paying for your time. Get back to our table, - NOW."

"Just a moment, Trent. I need a few minutes."

"No, I'm not waiting any longer."

A sound parts from her lips then which he never expected to hear, - a sound that has the hairs on his arms standing on end and his senses on full alert.

Her squeal of fright turns his blood cold, has him turning towards her, ready to take matters in his own hands and defend her in a heartbeat.

A man in his early 50's, burly, with cold brown eyes, wearing Armani like it's a second skin, has his hand clamped over her bicep.

Her eyes are wide, surprised, like a deer-caught-in-the-headlights and her voice portrays underlying fear as she says, "Let go of me."

"For the amount of money I'm paying you, I expect your sinful body next to me every single second." He pulls her arm roughly, dragging her towards him.

Rick sees red, - a bright, agonizing color, and in a flash, he's positioned himself in front of her companion, his blue eyes blazing, hissing through clenched teeth, "I suggest you do as the lady requests and release her, - _i__mmediately_."

The man laughs, - a sickening sound of someone who feels superior, someone who's used to getting his way. "You don't know her then as she's certainly NOT a lady. . . Move out of my way."

"How unfortunate your mother never taught you some manners." Rick takes a step closer to the man, going toe-to-toe with him, menacing intent radiating off his large frame. "And now you owe the _lady_ an apology. . . Release her now and ask her forgiveness or you won't like the consequences."

"Are you actually threatening me?"

"Take it anyway you like, Tre - nnt," Rick sneers, slurring his name like it's a filthy swear word. "But either way, you're letting go of her right now."

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

Disdain flows from Diamond as she addresses the older man, yanking her arm forcefully from his grasp. "He happens to be the gentleman I'm leaving with. . . Our date is over. Go find Mister Ryan and tell him I said you could have a full refund."

Her eyes soften as she looks upon Castle, voice hinting at a mysterious night to come. "Rick, will you get me out of here?"

She's looking at him with those gorgeous expressive eyes, gratitude shining from their depths and something infinitely darker which he hopes to unravel before the evening ends.

"Yes, I'd be honored to."

Out of the corner of his eye he notices Esposito barreling down on them.

Just as Diamond links her arm through his, Trent growls, "You don't get to decide when our date ends," and his slimy hand curls itself around her neck, squeezing softly. "I do."

Rick's response is instantaneous. His left elbow slams backward into Trent's ribs, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He's facing him in a millisecond, fist curled tightly into a ball and he strikes the older man with a right hook, hitting him directly in the nose.

The crunching sound of bone fills the air and blood starts oozing from his nostrils as he stumbles backward. Esposito grabs him before he falls to the ground and wraps up both his wrists, twisting one arm painfully behind his back.

"Sorry I didn't get to the party in time," he says jovially, grinning haughtily when Trent winces as he yanks harder on his arm. "Are you okay, Diamond?"

"Yes, a little shaken, but I'm fine thanks to Writer-Boy here."

Esposito looks dumbstruck as he gives Castle the once over. "Never thought I'd be saying this to you, but you have nice arm, bro. . . For a _writer._"

His accent makes it sound like writing's the prissiest job on the planet and has Rick chuckling, "Thanks for the compliment."

"Seriously though, thank you for taking care of my girl."

"Anytime. It was my pleasure." His eyes openly caress Diamond's face, tracing the feminine curve of her cheek, falling along her slim neck, - looking for any sign she's truly hurt and is only placating them.

His baby blues fill with unchecked desire, as well as an underlying promise for a tempting future if she'll just give them a chance. "I'm hoping she'll let me take care of her again in the very near future."

_Take care of every intimate, salacious need._

"I'm happy to give you a few pointers on taming this wildcat," Trent sarcastically sneers.

"Shut up," Esposito threatens, "or I'll do it for you. . . Diamond, you want to file charges against this asshole?"

"No," she tears her eyes reluctantly away from Rick's. "Make sure he's escorted out of here and put directly in a cab. I'll have Ryan issue him a full refund on condition he never tries to contact me again."

"Did you hear that, sleazebag? If you ever try to reach Diamond again, I'll personally make sure a restraining order is filed against you and your ass is thrown in jail. Got it?"

Trent grumbles something affirmative as Esposito half hauls, half drags him towards the door, but his parting shot's raunchy, meant to deliberately offend, and Castle has to consciously restrain himself from flying after the man and beating him senseless.

"She's spoiled goods. Enjoy my leftovers if you can."

It's clear his words hit the mark as Diamond tenses next to him, her body rigid, eyes downcast as she says, "Please take me away from here."

"I'll take you wherever you want to go," and his hand clasps hers, her warm palm shooting flames of lust and unsurpassed longing through his entire frame.

As he leads her out of the restaurant, taking in her graceful walk, the aura of pure beauty that surrounds her, - both inside and out,- he feels an undeniable, irrevocable connection to her.

And for the first time in his life, Richard Castle rejoices in the possibility that he may have just found his missing half.


	6. Chapter 6

**Diamond's / Kate's POV**

**...**

She's grateful the money's so good so she only has to work once or twice a week and contrary to popular belief, not every date ends in the sheets. There are dignitaries and diplomats who are happily married and only need her services to be arm candy.

She's learned over the past year in the business to abide religiously to a strict set of rules: Four hours maximum on a date, only one spent in the bedroom, condoms mandatory. She doesn't allow herself to fall asleep next to a man, and she never, ever lets a client go down on her. . . It's too intimate, too revealing and an act she reserves for someone she truly cares about.

It's been two years since that's occurred. . . A vision of Federal Agent Will Sorenson flashes through her mind, all blond hair and suave smile and she immediately shoves it aside. He's only a small part of the reason she's now on her current, dangerous path.

Her companion's hand on her knee brings her back to the present and she sighs in response, playing the doting Diamond, but secretly grateful this will be the last time she has to deal with the greedy stockbroker.

She doesn't doubt in the least Trent's embroiled deep in the murder of a prominent city official; she's gathered from their two other dates that he's a slimy worm in the extortion ring at the heart of the murder, but doesn't control the strings. She'll extract as much information as she can from him, hoping he'll slip up and reveal something incriminating, but if it doesn't pan out, she refuses to see him again.

Thank God Montgomery understands and agrees.

She's tired of having to stroke his massive ego and be his eager slave in the bedroom; the man pure and simple has a dark side he keeps under lock and key and sometimes, when it briefly surfaces, frightens the hell out of her.

She looks at Trent thoughtfully, trying to stay focused on what's he's saying but failing miserably as thoughts of a 6 foot 2, blue-eyed author keep streaming through her mind. . . Right now, as she listens to him go on and on about another multi-million dollar business deal, she wishes Castle would hurry up and show his ruggedly handsome face and interrupt her companion's dull monologue.

Richard Caste. . . Her heart's all over the place thinking about him, _the sneaky bastard._

Many men have tried different avenues in the past to get her attention. . . Of course, there's been the odd marriage proposal, the usual promises of buying a condo for her here in New York as well as any country of her choice, a client who dedicated thousands of dollars in her name to charity, and even someone who insisted on naming a new division of his business, Diamond Enterprises, but a man actually having the stones to take something personal of hers on the ruse of having it repaired?

That was a first, and _hmm,_ she can't decide if it was a really shitty thing to do or just downright clever and incredibly sweet.

It's one thing for an inquisitive author to plan on using her life as background fodder for a new character in his book, but quite another when he delves into her personal life, sees an opportunity and takes advantage of it. . . Even if his heart was in the right place and it was strictly a gentlemanly gesture, he definitely had a personal agenda of his own, and she doesn't quite know how to feel about it.

She doesn't know how to feel about a man with a sensitive nature plus a killer vocabulary to match his killer personality, who also happens to have the ability to unbury feelings she hasn't felt in a very long time, things she does NOT want to feel.

She either wants to wring his neck until the smug light in his eyes vanishes completely, or jump his bones and maul him savagely, watching that smug light turn wickedly darker.

Ohh, the infinite possibilities.

She's a mess of jumbled nerves because beautiful-as-a-clear-summer-sky eyes keep haunting her, and a voice with the gift for making a woman wet, keeps whispering in her head, "I never pay for sex, Diamond. If you're ever interested in learning about real pleasure, give me a call."

_Real pleasure, huh?_ but she quickly dispels the notion that 'real pleasure' just might be Richard Castle's middle name.

She fluctuates from one feeling to the next. . . One moment feeling, 'raw anger for the nerve of the man,' and the next, 'it just might be the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me,' sentiment.

Her heart tries to convince her that Castle didn't look at her as if she was only a fine piece of ass created for the sole purpose of a man's pleasure, but those piercing blues gazed at her as if her body's a temple and deserved to be worshipped, - hourly.

It was more than physical though, - he gave her the impression she was someone worthy of getting to know, worthy of his attention, worthy of _him._

No matter her decision, there's one thing absolutely certain in her mind: Richard Edgar Castle is Trouble with a capital T and trouble is something she just can't add to her fucked-up life right now.

She's facing the entrance to the restaurant but doesn't see Rick when he walks through the doorway as Trent commands her full attention. Her companion comments on how the Mets don't stand a chance of getting into the World Series this season and she laughs, because in addition to being a power stock broker he likes to consider himself a power sports analyst.

Just as she laughs, her sixth sense kicks into overtime and she knows she's being watched. . . The sensual flutter low in her belly tells her instinctively it's _him._

Castle.

Her eyes jerk over to the doorway and mold with his, delicious delight swimming in their depths as he absorbs her. There's no other word for it than 'absorb' as she can practically feel his body heat calling to her from 50 feet away as his eyes roam over her form.

And God, he looks yummy. Not a hair out of place wearing a maroon silk shirt clinging to his massive biceps and stretching across his wide chest; those Dolce and Gabbana cloudy gray pants emphasizing all the right, _umm, _body parts.

It's a pity, - a damn shame she's going to have to knock this amazingly vibrant, walking-sex-magnet on his butt, but she can't let him get away with probing into her personal life and trying to seduce her by chivalrous, manipulative means.

And she most definitely can't let a man in her life who undoubtedly would have the power to hurt her.

Nope, nada, no, 'Mister-I'm-the-most-unselfish-lover-you'll-ever-meet-in-your-lifetime-Castle'. She cannot under any circumstances let him into her life.

It's with a trepidatious heart she lets Trent know she'll be right back and stands and walks confidently towards the author, anger building with each and every step she takes at her body's response to him.

She hates that her flesh is tingling at his heated gaze; hates that her nipples are erect and desiring his large, author hands; hates his, 'If-you'd-only-let-me-I-could-show-you-unseen-pleasures-in-the-bedroom,' baby blues.

"Diamond, how lovely to see you again," he greets her warmly, all male dashing personality with underlying sexy motives.

She thinks his voice should be illegal to the entire female population and before he can smooth-talk his way out of this (or more accurately, smooth-talk his way into her) and make her rethink her decision, she's interrupting him.

"Don't say another word," she says icily.

She holds out her hand, palm face up in a cupping shape, speaking abruptly, "My necklace please."

He's surprised by her harshness but pulls the chain out of his front pocket, his thumb rubbing over the antique ring in a mesmerizing fashion, and with pleading eyes and an incredibly apologetic voice asks, "May I just have five minutes? Can we please sit down so I can explain something to you?"

The words are flying out of her mouth before she even thinks about them, - jagged, cutting, hurtful.

"Let you explain why you're such a jack-ass? Let you explain how you get your jollies stealing jewelry from unsuspecting women? Let you explain why you felt justified taking something priceless from me, - that it was the only way you could think of to see me again?" Her eyes rake over his face, distaste painting her features. "No thank you. I've heard it all before. Our business is done, Mister Castle."

_Oh shit__,_ those puppy dog eyes fill with pain and disappointment, weakening her resolve, but it's his response that literally blows her away, has her gasping for breath, wondering how in the span of just a few minutes spent in his company, this observant author has crawled his way under her skin and left his indelible mark?

His eyes never leave hers as his voice drops low, filled with emotion. "I wanted to explain why I was drawn to the necklace in the first place. . . Why the inscription on the ring touched something deep within me. Why, - when I noticed the clasp was loose, I couldn't stop myself from picking it up and taking it to a jeweler whom I trust, who I knew would take special care of it, . . . but it's obvious my impulsiveness was a mistake. I apologize for being intrusive, for overstepping my bounds. I never meant to hurt you, Diamond. Hopefully, you'll be able to forgive me one day."

She doesn't expect it as he moves towards her and the next moment he's standing behind her, hands slightly shaky as he places the chain around her neck.

He smells divine, like a man who's just stepped from beneath a Hawaiian waterfall, - clean fresh, earthy. His body heat sears into her back and his fingers skim her collarbone, - tentative and yet needy at the same time, - calloused pads of flesh which send liquid warmth to her loins.

"Don't worry, you'll never have to see me again," floats over her ear in a whisper-pained caress while he clasps the necklace completely.

She turns around, - all liquid hazel, questioning orbs, trying to grasp what's happening between them.

His eyes are focused on the necklace lying between her breasts and "Beautiful," streams out of his mouth like he's never used the word before.

"You should never take if off. It's right where it belongs, - close to your heart."

He turns away from her quickly and she's stunned, slack-jawed, trying to comprehend how he makes her feel like he can scale this twenty foot wall of hers armed only with rapier wit and spellbinding passion.

"Cas - tle," she calls but he just keeps walking away from her, stiff set shoulders and straight back testifying how she's wounded him.

"Rick," she tries a second time, knowing she has to stop him, somehow make this right between them, but Trent's hand clamps down over her bicep possessively, stopping her.

"Diamond, I'm the one who's paying for your time. Get back to our table, - NOW."

She can't deal with this douche bag going all haughty on her, so she huffs, "Just a moment, Trent. I need a few minutes."

"No, I'm not waiting any longer," and his fingers curl menacingly into her tender flesh.

As his fingers tighten, she can feel the impending bruise spreading across her arm and a squeak of fright leaves her lips.

She doesn't see Rick turn back around as her full attention is on the man at her side. She can't keep the tremor of fear out of her voice as she commands, "Let go of me."

"For the amount of money I'm paying you, I expect your sinful body next to me every single second." Trent pulls her arm roughly, dragging her towards him.

She looks to her left, hoping to see Esposito riding to her rescue but instead finds herself looking at a deadly determined, six foot tower of rage. . .

Rick positions himself in front of her companion, his blue eyes blazing, hissing through clenched teeth, "I suggest you do as the lady requests and release her, - _immediately_."

Trent laughs, - a sickening sound of someone who feels superior, someone who's used to getting his way. "You don't know her then as she's certainly **not** a lady. . . Move out of my way."

"How unfortunate your mother never taught you some manners." Rick takes a step closer to the man, going toe-to-toe with him, menacing intent radiating off his large frame. "And now you owe the _lady_ an apology. . . Release her now and ask her forgiveness or you won't like the consequences."

"Are you actually threatening me?"

"Take it anyway you like, Tre - nnt," Rick sneers, slurring his name like it's a filthy swear word. "But either way, you're letting go of her right now."

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

She can't keep quiet any longer as this author, who certainly deserves the Casanova award of the decade, happens to also be a true Gentleman in every sense of the word and her one weakness where men are concerned is a dapper man with a 'hero complex'.

And Richard Castle happens to fit the bill beautifully.

Disdain flows from off her as she addresses Trent, yanking her arm forcefully from his grasp.

"He happens to be the gentleman I'm leaving with. . . Our date is over. Go find Mister Ryan and tell him I said you could have a full refund."

Her eyes soften as she turns to Castle, voice hinting at a mysterious night to come. "Rick, will you get me out of here?"

She hopes he can tell how grateful she is to him for rescuing her from this jackass, how much it would mean to spend the rest of the night in his company.

Her heart stutters and then flutters out of control at his response.

"Yes, I'd be honored to."

With a relieved sigh, she links her arm through his and then the unthinkable happens. . .

Trent growls, "You don't get to decide when our date ends," and his slimy hand curls itself around her neck, squeezing softly. "I do."

She takes an anguished breath before Rick's left elbow slams backward into Trent's ribs, knocking the breath out of his lungs. Castle's facing him in a millisecond, fist curled tightly into a ball and he strikes the older man with a right hook, hitting him directly in the nose.

She smiles triumphantly as the crunching sound of bone fills the air and blood starts oozing from Trent's nostrils as he stumbles backward.

Her ever faithful bodyguard grabs Trent before he falls to the ground and wraps up both his wrists, twisting one arm painfully behind his back.

"Sorry I didn't get to the party in time," Espo says jovially, grinning haughtily when Trent winces as he yanks harder on his arm. "Are you okay, Diamond?"

"Yes, a little shaken, but I'm fine thanks to Writer-Boy here." She glances at him beneath lowered lashes as Wo_w_, she certainly didn't expect him to go all 'Knight in shining armor' for her, willing to defend her at any cost.

Esposito looks dumbstruck as he gives Castle the once over. "Never thought I'd be saying this to you, but you have nice arm, bro. . . For a _writer._"

Rick chuckles as if he and Espo are long time drinking buddies. "Thanks for the compliment."

"Seriously though, thank you for taking care of my girl."

"Anytime. It was my pleasure."

His eyes openly caress her face, tracing the feminine curve of her cheek, falling along her neck, checking for any signs she's really hurt.

_Fuck__, _his baby blues fill with unchecked desire and his bedroom voice promises many salacious nights to come. . . "I'm hoping she'll let me take care of her again in the very near future."

Trent breaks the spell swirling between them when he sarcastically sneers, "I'm happy to give you a few pointers on taming this wildcat."

"Shut up," Esposito threatens, "or I'll do it for you. . . Diamond, you want to file charges against this asshole?"

"No," she tears her eyes reluctantly away from Rick's. "Make sure he's escorted out of here and put directly in a cab. I'll have Ryan issue him a full refund on condition he never tries to contact me again."

"Did you hear that, sleazebag? If you ever try to reach Diamond again, I'll personally make sure a restraining order is filed against you and your ass is thrown in jail. Got it?"

Trent grumbles something affirmative as Esposito half hauls, half drags him towards the door. His face contorts in humiliation, laced with jealousy as he looks at her one last time and she knows, before the words fly out of his mouth, that they're going to sting.

"She's spoiled goods. Enjoy my leftovers if you can."

She tenses next to Castle, her body rigid, as yes, the truth may set you free, but sometimes, emotional pain hurts worse than actual physical pain.

Unfortunately, this was one of those times.

With eyes downcast, trying to hide the tears pricking them, she says softly, "Please take me away from here."

"I'll take you wherever you want to go," and as his hand clasps hers, something happens that hasn't happened in over two long years. . . A tinder sparks to life low in her belly, making her dream of an author writing sensual messages on her skin, indescribable burning friction, salacious satisfaction at his hands - a feeling she didn't realize how much she missed until her favorite writer bulldozed his way into her life.


	7. Chapter 7

He's determined not to bed her until he knows her real name.

He doesn't want her to see him as just another client, absolutely refuses to be another john, having certain expectations of her, demanding explicit things.

He wants to be the one man she chooses to sleep with, the one man who makes a lasting impression on her life.

She's awfully quiet staring outside the limo's back window, taking in the beauty of the city streets.

They left the restaurant so quickly that they were unable to stop at her suite to pick up a shawl, and the goose bumps along her flesh reflect she's cold.

"You must be freezing. Would you like my jacket?"

He sincerely hopes she'll say, "Yes," as he needs to cover those alluring nipples out on full display, making him half crazed with need.

_Hell__,_ it's embarrassing how his eyes keep dropping to her chest.

"Yes, I am a bit cold."

He takes his jacket and slips it behind her shoulders, his fingers slyly roving along her shoulders.

"You should keep it," he says with a dapper smile. "It looks way better on you than it does on me." A vision of her wearing only his Dolce &amp; Gabbana jacket flits to mind, all legs and incandescent smile.

His comment causes her to smile, chasing away the sadness over Trent's earlier snide remarks.

"Thank you, but I'm positive the female population of New York just might hate me a bit if I kept your jacket."

"Mmm, be careful, Diamond, as that sounds quite a lot like a compliment. You wouldn't want it going to my head now, would you?"

"Oh, you'll know Mis - ter Castle, when I pay you an actual compliment."

The delicious undertones in her voice clearly hint she'll be complimenting him when he's stark naked, succumbing to her fevered touch.

"I'm looking forward to it."

"And yes," she purrs, all sultry bedroom eyes, "It will definitely go to your head."

_Fuckety fuck_, her innuendo seeps through his skin and makes him hard as stone, the other 'head' on his lower half responding to her words.

As she pulls the jacket tight around her body, shivering slightly, he flips an intercom switch and asks the driver to please turn the heat on low.

"Anywhere special you want to go?"

"No. Just somewhere I can get a strong drink."

He chuckles low and deep, sending vibrations along the back of the seat. "You read my mind."

Surprisingly, the bar isn't busy for a Friday night. The hostess is able to find them a secluded table in the back with a view of the street below.

She's still wrapped up in his Dolce and Gabbana jacket and looks like the girl-next-door, - the beautiful, untouchable girl with bits of fly away hair falling out of her elaborate twist, with soulful eyes you can lose yourself in.

After she orders a White Russian, heavy on the coffee liqueur, his eyebrow raises comically and he delightfully smirks at her, "I like a woman whose coffee addiction might possibly rival mine."

She quips, "What? You've never dated a woman before with a love of hard liquor?"

"I'm flattered, Diamond," and his eyes light up mischievously. "Here I thought we were just two consenting adults going out for a drink, and yet, you're thinking this is a date."

She rolls those hazel eyes and drawls, "Wrong choice of words, this is definitely **not** a date. Think of this along the lines of a personal business meeting."

The author in him is thrilled at her words, the man in him? . . . _Hmm, not so much._

"Let me make it perfectly clear that I don't want to hire you. I only want to get to know you better, the woman behind the persona, the _real_ you."

Her smile could light a thousand wickless candles as she teases, "How refreshing to meet a man who doesn't want to sleep with me."

"Un - for - tun - ately," and he spouts a, I-am-a-virile-heterosexual-male-who-appreciates-an-extraordinarily-gorgeous-woman, grin. "I fall into that baser category with half the men here in New York, but I assure you, my motives are more complex."

"Thank God you didn't say your motives were pure or I'd have to call you out on your blatant lie."

"'Pure' is certainly one of the last things on my mind," he purrs devilishly.

"You've piqued my curiosity now." She crosses her left leg over her right, smoothing down the silk dress as it falls freely to her feet. "How would you describe your intentions?"

He wants to get down on his knees beneath the table, run his hands underneath the enticing silk fabric and worship those glorious gams slowly, - show her just how _unpure_ he can be.

"I'm someone who's enthralled by you," he starts off cautiously. "Someone who's willing to go to great lengths to get to know you better, but I'm not just interested in your career choice, but what lays buried beneath the surface. . . I'd love to get a peek beneath all the glamour and the hype, unwrap the sex-symbol you portray."

"Why doesn't your answer surprise me? It's certainly one I would expect from a _famous_ writer."

"It's not just the author in me who's curious about you, Diamond, but the man who's seeking a woman with a generous heart, a kind soul, and sharp intellect.

His eyes reflect the ability to wrap her up in intense, sensual pleasure as he gazes at her openly. "It's just an added bonus if those traits happen to match her outward appearance."

"There's more to you than I originally thought," she says lazily, but by the surprised gleam in her eye, he wonders if she even meant to say the words out loud.

"If you'll give me the chance, I just might shock you with my hidden depths."

She doesn't respond, just stares at him intently, gold-flecks in her irises more pronounced as she wonders if he's as smooth as silk in the bedroom as well.

The bubbly young waitress approaches their table eyeing Rick appreciatively. He doesn't notice the way she bats her eyelashes, the way she stands to accentuate her curvaceous figure, or even the flirtiness in her tone as she places their drinks on the table.

He doesn't notice as his attention is fully on the woman in front of him. . . The city street lamps shine through the window and bring an ethereal glow to Diamond's face; he can't seem to look away from her dainty mouth with just a hint of lipgloss, accentuating its lushness. His fingers itch to dance along her strong jawline and settle on the nape of her neck, pulling her closer until. . .

"Will that be all for you two this evening?" Mariah asks, disappointment filling her tone with Rick's lack of response to her.

"For right now. Thank you."

"One drink is enough for me," Diamond replies, smiling at the waitress' attempt to grab Rick's attention.

Once Mariah has walked out of site, she takes a sip of the White Russian and asks, "Does that happen often?"

"What?" he queries.

"A pretty young woman fawning all over you."

"Huh?" he asks, feigning innocence while smiling broadly over the rim of his vodka glass.

"Oh, come on Castle," she laughs, looking at him like he just might be the densest man on the planet. "She was obviously flirting with you and hoped something would come of it."

"Who, Mariah? . . . God, she's barely older than Alexis and I prefer a woman," his eyes narrow darkly, hunger residing in their depths, "who knows who she is. . . One who isn't afraid to let a man see her inner beauty as well as her _inner desires_. One who cherishes the pleasure a man and woman can give each other."

"Well, that certainly is a tall order. She must be a difficult woman to find."

"I'm hoping my search is over."

She's uncomfortable with his confession, her fingers playing with the straw in her drink, stirring it nervously.

He takes a hefty swig of the vodka, the burn of the alcohol making him wish he could share a different kind of burn with her.

"Tell me your real name," and it barrels out of his mouth, sounding more like a military command than a request.

"I don't ever tell anyone my name," she says softly, almost apologetically. "Please understand. . . In this business, anonymity is my only choice."

"I understand more than you realize, but what about the woman beneath the erotic facade? Doesn't she occasionally like to be noticed, listened to, empathised with? Doesn't she yearn to come out and play?"

"I, unfortunately, don't have that type of luxury."

A dull knife cuts at his heart as there's undoubtedly a deep tragedy at the center of her story, a story he wonders if he'll ever be privy to.

"Give me the opportunity. I've been told I'm a very good listener," he says sincerely, sitting back comfortably in his chair, hoping she'll open up to him.

"I'd bet you've been told you're _good_ at a lot of things."

His chuckle is deep, intimate. "It seems you've gathered more about me than I you. . . Try me, Diamond. I'd love to be your sounding board."

_Among other naughty, dirty things._

She looks at him critically, sizing him up, hazel eyes filling with wariness, and he knows before she speaks that he won't be able to pull any more information from her tonight.

"Not this evening, I'd rather focus more on you. . . So I take it you're still in the research phase for your new book?"

"Correct. I certainly need to -," and he pauses, blue eyes lighting wickedly, "research you more thoroughly. . . Among other things."

"It's the 'other things' I'm worried about."

She needs to stop curling her bottom lip with her teeth, (ImMeDiateLy) all coy and demure like, or he's not going to be able to restrain himself from reaching across the table and taking that sweet lip into his own mouth and . . .

"No need to worry. My mother raised me to be a gentleman in every sense of the word. Nothing will happen between us which isn't," his eyes caress her lips, "consensual."

He can practically read her thoughts of: _That's what I'm afraid of. . . _

"I certainly witnessed firsthand your chivalrous nature, Mister Castle. Which by-the-way reminds me, I haven't properly thanked you."

"Thank moi?" and his hand covers his chest as if in shock. "What has little ol' me done to deserve your thanks?"

She laughs then, soft and airy and it pulls an immediate smile from him. "_Old_ is certainly the last term I'd use to describe you."

"Oh really?" he teases, "and here I thought the last word in the dictionary to describe me was _little_."

"Mmm," and her eyes descend daringly down his chest, stopping just below the waistband on his pants. "I might get the nerve one day to let you prove it to me."

_Holy hell_, the way she's looking at him, peeling off every layer of his clothing with eager hands and hopefully a more eager mouth, has his groin aching to take her, - feel every sweet, wet feminine curve of her womanhood.

_Take it slow, Rick, this one's worth the wait__,_ but trying to convince mini Castle of that was going to be extremely difficult.

His cell phone rings, chiming out the melody for 'Butterfly Kisses'.

"Excuse me just a minute. I need to take this call. It's my daughter," and he swipes across the screen to accept the call.

"Alexis, pumpkin, how's every - " His brows furrow together anxiously as he listens to her.

"I want you to notify Henry. Tell him not to let anyone he doesn't know personally up to our floor. I'll be home in thirty minutes. . . Make sure all the blinds are closed and double check the front door to make sure it's locked."

He listens to her for a few more seconds and the frown lines soften a bit from what she says. He chuckles softly, "That's my girl. I love you," and then he's hanging up, turning to Diamond with apologetic eyes.

"I'm sorry. I have to cut our evening short," and then he's pulling out his wallet, searching for twenty dollar bills and tossing a couple on the table to pay for their tab.

"It's no problem at all," she says, gathering his jacket closer around her. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

He quickly taps out a text to his limo driver telling him to meet them out front before turning anxious, worried eyes her way. "No. She's a little frightened is all. She received a creepy text from a questionable, obsessive boy."

"Castle," she breathes, and her hand reaches for his, clasping it tightly. "Is he stalking her? Are you worried he might be dangerous?"

"Something along those lines."

Her hand feels deliciously warm as he interlocks their fingers, drawing her from the table and directing them through a throng of people whom have suddenly shown up during the intermission of a Broadway play.

The night air is crisp against his cheeks as he leads her out onto the busy sidewalk.

"I have friends at the Twelfth Precinct who can look into this boy for you. . . Do a background check, set up surveillance, offer protection if you feel like she needs it."

It's just so sweet of her and downright thoughtful and God, he didn't think it was possible, but the gesture makes her even more desirable in his eyes.

"I appreciate the offer, but we'll be alright."

Brandon arrives with the limo just as they reach the curb of the street and a sigh of remorse leaves his lips at the thought of not being able to escort her back home, not having the chance to peel away another layer of her shell.

He opens the back door of the limo and tells his driver to take the lady wherever she wants to go, but before he can usher her through, she's turned to him with molten eyes, hands curling at his waist.

Hot hands with svelte fingers that he wishes would move slightly rearward, drag along the cusp of his ass.

"You're not coming with me?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't have the time to stop anywhere first. My daughter needs me."

"It's wonderful knowing you put her first in your life," and then she's leaning into him, hot breath ghosting over his cheek, purring, "I never got to thank you for rescuing me earlier," and her lips land on his fresh stubble, pressing erotically into the flesh, lingering longer than is socially acceptable.

"Thank you, Richard Edgar Castle."

"You're welcome." He helps her gracefully into the backseat, eyes falling and lingering on her Brooklyn Decker ass.

A goofy grin smatters across his handsome face as he purrs, "Promise me something. . . " He's reaching for her seatbelt, drawing it snugly across her body, unable to resist the temptation to swipe his fingers across her right hip.

"No more douche bags."

Her eyes twinkle as she replies, "Don't know if I can promise that, but I will promise to keep you in mind the next time I need help taking out the trash."

"Please do. I've been told I'm _gifted_ when it comes to helping women," and he winks outrageously before closing the door soundly, tapping the hood of the limo to let Brandon know it's safe to pull away.

His fingers are tingling and her cherry scent is still wafting in the air around him as he hails a cab, and now he's in an unbearable state of arousal which he won't be able to take care of for several hours.

He shouldn't have touched her.


	8. Chapter 8

The night keeps replaying over and over again in her mind.

It's simply eating her up inside knowing they never discussed seeing one another again. . . She'd thanked Castle for rescuing her from Trent, slid her fingers along his waistband and fought against the urge to cop a feel of his tight butt before placing her lips on his stubbled cheek.

The back of her hand lifts to her lips in remembrance.

_Fuck__,_ she can still feel the fresh, baby stubble beneath her mouth and her loins automatically contract in anticipation, picturing his dark sexy stubble between her legs.

The woman in her who longs for a normal, stable relationship tries to convince her to call the hunky author, but the self-assured Goddess stamps the idea out, reminding her she's never needed a man in her life before and never will.

A coil of fear wraps itself around her and feels suffocating. . . Fear that Richard Edgar Castle just might be the _one_ man to make her rethink the notion.

She can't stop thinking about the way he stood up to Trent, defending her as a _lady_, and actually punching the jerk-off in the face. He'd been extremely attentive to her all night long, as if she was the only woman in the room, not even noticing when the beautiful, young waitress had openly flirted with him.

He'd been forthright, teasing, letting her know his intentions weren't quite pure, insinuating she just might have all the traits he was looking for in a woman.

He'd done what she thought was impossible, - managed to convince her he was more than just interested in her for sensual pleasure.

Damn the man for interfering and interviewing her for research for his new book, for tossing her off her sturdy life raft into murky waters, waves sloshing over her where she's barely able to keep her head above water.

She refuses to entertain the possibility he's her 'life preserver,' - floating along her side.

She remembers his commanding presence, his deep voice purring, "I prefer a woman who knows who she is. . . One who isn't afraid to let a man see her inner beauty as well as her inner desires. One who cherishes the pleasure a man and woman can give each other."

_I just bet he does_, she thinks raunchily, but her inner voice relays he's different from all the other men she's dated before and deserves a chance.

In just a very short time spent in his presence, she's deemed he's a VERY good man and it shows by his words, but more importantly, by his actions.

He was unselfish throughout the entire evening, chivalrous to a fault, offering her his jacket when he noticed she was cold, not expecting anything in return. He'd flirted, ogled, made his intentions clear but in an understated, honorable way, making her believe he was hoping for more than just one torrid night in the sack, desiring to get to know the _real_ her.

He'd shown what a dedicated father he is, proving his daughter came first and foremost in his life and _fuck_, that fact alone certainly did it for her.

He'd been accommodating and gracious, telling his driver to take her wherever she wanted to go, helping her into the back seat of the limo and with a grin to match George Washington on Mount Rushmore, he'd pulled the seatbelt taut around her, fingers slicing hotly over her pelvis before clicking the belt into place.

He'd brushed off her invitation to join her for the sake of his daughter, left her in the back seat of the limo alone, - breathing erratically, surrounded by his intoxicating, rugged scent, wishing his muscular body was there keeping her warm instead of his jacket.

_Mmm, his jacket__._ It still hangs on her headboard where she drapes herself in it at night, his smell filling her with dirty thoughts of naked flesh, heated cries, and up-all-night-melt-your-bones-fucking-sessions.

It's been five days since she's seen him. . . Five long nights where she wakes unrested, feverish, twisted in sheets, a dampness between her thighs.

She dreams of thick sandy hair, midnight-blue obsessive eyes which rarely blink as he absorbs every inch of her, large hands which strum and flick and torture her provocatively.

She dreams of six feet of muscle pinning her down, enfolding her with his bulk and a voice whispering huskily, "Kate."

_He's_ dangerous to her psyche.

Dangerous to her well being.

Dangerous to her heart.

She's got to get him outta her head so life can go back to normal.

_Normal? . . . Trying to stop yourself from slipping down the rabbit hole while surrounded by a 20 foot wall? Continuing to work for Detective Montgomery hoping one day a john will reveal information about your Mother's murder? Hiding behind your persona because you're too scared to dream, - or even hope for, - what your parents shared?. . . A lot of good that's done you for the past year and a half._

She runs her fingers through her layered, mid-length hair and sighs in exasperation.

_Maybe today's the day the Captain will reveal promising evidence._

She dresses quickly in navy skinny jeans and a white button down, choosing conservative boots. She applies bronzer, a touch of mascara and some gloss, brushing her hair into a high ponytail.

She loves these days off where she can leave Diamond's glamorous lifestyle behind and just be Kate Beckett, albeit a damaged one.

As she enters the 12th precinct, Officer Anne Hastings greets her openly and she returns the greeting with a heartfelt smile, wondering if she had passed the Academy, if she and the young woman would be friends.

She hops on the elevator and heads up to the 3rd floor for Captain Montgomery's office. As she approaches his door, she hears the Captain and Esposito arguing with each other, raised voices traveling through the closed door.

"You underestimated Trent Eason, Sir. The man's bordering on psychotic and could have easily hurt her."

"She's okay isn't she? She's a big girl and knows the risks, gladly accepts them."

"Yes, but she isn't one of us no matter how much you wish otherwise. She's treading down a rocky road, willing to throw herself to the wolves in hopes of finding a solid lead in her mother's case."

"Don't you think I know that? I wish I didn't have to put her in harm's way, but you've witnessed firsthand the good she's done. . . She's been invaluable here, helping to put serious scumbags behind bars who otherwise would be roaming these city streets free and clear. I need her on my team."

"But at what cost . . . Her life? Because I won't be able to - "

Kate taps soundly on the door, interrupting them, uncomfortable with the direction their conversation's heading.

"Captain?" she queries, opening the door and coming into contact with Esposito's dark brown, reserved eyes.

"Well, speak of the devil." Javi grins atrociously, feigning she hasn't just been the topic of conversation. "How are you, Beckett?"

"Doing good. Thanks again for escorting Trent out of Asiate the other night."

"You ought to thank me for arresting him for assault. His rich, pompous mouth got him into trouble. He openly threatened me so I hauled him down to booking." (He wouldn't mention Trent also threatened to come after her and show her how a 'real man' handles a woman) It was the highlight of my night throwing him in the cage."

With a delightful smile she replies, "I'm sure he got exactly what he deserved."

"Yes, and a little bit more." Javi's raised eyebrow spoke of outrageous, not-quite-legal shenanigans.

"You'll have to tell me all about it."

Montgomery clears his throat, effectively interrupting them. "Esposito, you need to get back to Officer McNaughty's case."

"Officer McNaughty?" she asks humorously.

Espo smirks around his Hispanic drawl, "Just a popular stripper who enjoyed dressing up as a cop." He opens the office door before turning back to Kate, "I'll see you tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night?" she queries, surprise lingering in the air.

"Didn't Ryan speak with you? . . . A new client paid for three hours of your time from 7 - 10 pm."

"No, he hasn't talked to me about it. I'll call him later."

Javi chuckles, "Tell him I'm sick and tired of seeing him drool over Jenny O'Malley. He needs to get the balls to ask her to marry him."

A vise grip clenches around her heart, squeezing mercilessly as she wonders if a man will ever look at her the way Kevin Ryan does Jenny O'Malley.

"I'll relay the message."

Espo closes the door shut behind him and she turns to Montgomery expectantly, "Please tell me you have good news."

There's no other word for it than frustration. Her mother's case is still, after 12 long years, going nowhere. Montgomery hadn't been able to find any inconsistencies with the law cases Johanna was working on before her death.

Quote, unquote, "Nothing jumped out on paper." He'd hired a new Medical Examiner to take a look at the photos of the crime scene as well as her body, but there was nothing conclusive, the stab wounds looked random, violent, meant for blood loss, meant to kill.

'Random gang violence' would remain the cause of Johanna Beckett's death.

_Only for now_**,** she vows to herself.

She picks up her burner cell phone and inputs Ryan's number. After a couple of rings, his Irish voice comes on the line, "Hello."

"Rumors are I have a job tomorrow night. Why am I the last one to know?" She spouts in mock-anger.

"I was just going to call you as the request came in last night."

"Were you now? Why do I get the feeling you and Espo enjoy leaving me dangling until the last possible minute?"

"Because you do your best work with little to no notice," he laughs.

"Touche. . . Tell me about this new guy."

"He's a trust-fund kid, raised by his mother, now in his thirties. He's an entrepreneur, dabbling in the publishing industry. He's looking to relocate from the Hamptons to the city and would like you to be his tour guide."

"Seems a little odd. I usually only get that type of request from foreigners. I'm sure he knows about the city's hot spots, so is he more interested in the rural areas?"

"It's the impression I got, but his secretary was pretty vague about it when she booked you for him."

"He signed the contract?"

"Yes. I went over all your rules with her and she praised the man's virtues, promising her Boss understands and would abide by them without fail."

"Background check?"

"Other than being arrested in his youth for vandalism of the New York City Public Library, he's clean."

"And you're sure he understands Esposito will be shadowing us the entire time?"

"Yes, Diamond. He's okay with your bodyguard tagging along as long as he sits in the front seat of the towncar, leaving you two in relative privacy."

"Okay then, I'll agree to it. Did he specify what he'd like me to wear?"

"Anything you're comfortable with."

"Is there a particular hotel he requested to go to afterwards?"

"No, he didn't pay for the full package, only for your time."

She expels a sigh of relief and mumbles, "Thank God for little favors."

"Sorry, I didn't catch what you just said."

"Never mind, it wasn't important. . . When and where are we supposed to meet?"

"7 pm. A diner on 4th and Broadway called, Remy's."

"I know the place; they make a mean burger and to-die-for strawberry shakes. . . How will I recognize him?"

"He'll be the guy with the single yellow rose."

"What's his name, Ryan?"

"Alexander Rogers."

A what-the-hell-is-that, delicious, yet unnerving tremor starts at the soles of her feet and curls lazily up her entire body, at the same moment erotic baby blues blaze through her mind.


	9. Chapter 9

This could be the quickest date in human history. It could backfire in so many different ways, on so many levels. It just might end up being the biggest crash and burn of the 21st century.

Or, if it goes in the other direction, possibly end up being the hottest bonfire in New York's history.

Castle adjusts his sky blue polo shirt one more time, eyes glancing anxiously towards Remy's front door.

He'd been so caught up in worry the other night over Alexis, as well as smitten by the sex kitten before him, that he didn't plan ahead when he'd escorted Diamond to the back of the limo, teasingly asking her to promise him, "No more douchebags."

Her flirty, innuendo-filled response, plus the feel of her slender hip had caused the blood to zip south and he'd lost his Casanova mo-jo, forgetting to ask when he could see her again.

Paula had grudgingly agreed to his plan, laughing her head off at the idea of THEE Richard Castle, Playboy extraordinaire, having to pay for a woman's company. She pretended to be his secretary for the, "Good of the next book," and made him swear he wouldn't call her to bail his ass outta jail if things spiraled out of control.

Now, he's sitting in a greasy burger's booth, twirling a yellow bud nervously, waiting for a woman who could very well take one look at him and all hell fire and damnation break loose at his deception.

His groin twitches at the thought because _damn__,_ she's gorgeous with fiery eyes and a mouth to match, her clever tongue putting him in his rightful place.

Best case scenario, if she turns him down, will be for her to take one look at him and do a one-eighty, spinning away from him on the soles of those, I know-you-want-me-to-leave-these-on-while-fucking, heels and just walk away from him all stiff shoulders and sashaying ass.

_Hmm__,_ either way has definite positive possibilities.

Of course he's hoping, once she realizes he's actually Alexander Rogers, she'll see his deception as a compliment, take into consideration the preparation it took to set up a date with her, - interpret it as a, No-man-has-ever-gone-to-such-great-lengths-to-see-me-again, gesture.

With this woman though, who can make or break a man in under a minute, whose beauty surpasses Helen of Troy and whose sex appeal simmers hotter than Marilyn Monroe, he's expecting to walk away with a bruised and battered ego.

Expecting to lose his man card by her cutting, sensual mouth and skyscraper legs which could easily kick his ass to the curb.

He doesn't think he'd mind as much though if she used her hands to shove him out the restaurant door as his last memory of her would be those strong feminine fingers roughly leaving her mark on him.

He smiles at Judy, a waitress in her fifties who's a life-long fan of Martha's and likes to call him, "Ricky," giving him extra whipped topping on his pies and in his shakes.

She takes a big whiff of the dozen yellow roses he brought her, (now minus one) and ogles him like she wishes she could turn back the clock.

The door jangles, signifying someone entering the restaurant and he doesn't even have to see Diamond to know she's there, . . . just hears her sexy stilettos spiking the ceramic tile and his heart stops, stutters and then races like a stallion at the Kentucky Derby.

_Sweet Jesus,_ **she's only wearing. . . **_Oh my God_ and every eye in the diner's glued to her.

She's wrapped in a Burberry maroon trench coat zipped almost all the way to the top, protruding collarbones exposed, cinched tight at the waist with a wide belt, showcasing her hourglass figure and displaying just enough leg to make a Pavlovian dog drool without hearing a bell.

She's not wearing any nylons and combined with the 4 inch pumps she gives off the impression that she's not, _umm,_ (gulp) wearing anything underneath, - just ripe and ready and willing and waiting for the right man to slowly unknot that belt and peel the trench coat off her silky flesh and . . .

Her hazel eyes collide with his, and he sees the exact moment she recognizes him as raw irritation fills their lovely depths.

She tosses her hair prissily over her shoulder and rolls those expressive eyes, saying, "Un - Be - Liev - A- Ble," enunciating each syllable.

He places the stem of the rose in his mouth and smirks outrageously, all twinkling blue eyes, and crosses his fingers he's portraying nothing but 'male innocence'.

He assesses her face, straight hair that falls past her shoulders, light eye shadow with just a thin layer of mascara, a clear gloss on her lips, which makes her appear more youthful and natural, so UN**-**Diamond like. He bites the rose harder at the implication because to him it means only one thing. . . She left Diamond behind and is showing him a bit of _her_.

_Her_ in a smoking trench coat created to entice a man's fantasies.

Her.

Trench coat.

Stripper pole.

He silently prays, _God, don't let her notice already how excited mini-Castle is to see her._

He removes the rose and stands up in the aisle, holding it out to her as a token, at the same moment she walks towards him, a frustrated scowl marring those beautiful features.

"I can't wait to hear what TALL tale your writer's mind comes up with," she says, sarcasm dripping off each word. "If this is an elaborate ploy to learn more about me for your book, well you can just go to - "

"No ploy," he interrupts her, crossing his heart in an endearing, little boy manner. "I'm standing here in front of you as Richard Alexander Rogers the man, not Richard Castle, the author."

"You're standing before me alright as a conniving, manipulative man."

"Oh, give him a chance, honey," Judy speaks up unexpectedly, with an air of, If-this-man-were-mine-I'd-keep-him-tied-up-and-locked-away-to-have-my-dirty-way-with-him-twenty-four-seven. "He's been waiting for you for twenty minutes, primping his hair and fiddling with that rose. . . Put the poor man out of his misery and forgive him for his stupidity."

"Stupid is as stupid does," she drawls and it brings to mind the very StuPid idea to grab her and haul her to him, smothering that sassy, delectable mouth of hers and shutting her up with his tongue.

"Thank you Judy," Castle chuckles, "but I don't need you to play matchmaker."

Diamond looks as if she'd thoroughly enjoy grabbing his ear and twisting it painfully to teach him a lesson. She huffs out, "You certainly have an effect on women of all ages."

His eyes find hers, - dark, leering, sensual. "There's only one woman who I'm hoping to have an affect on tonight, Diamond."

"I'm not sure whether to be flattered by your attentions, Castle, or extremely troubled," and then she's spinning around, walking confidently away from him.

He's following her like a lost puppy but he's buoyed by the fact she hasn't openly called him every name in the book, hasn't outright told him to screw himself and go jump in the Hudson.

Before she can reach for the door handle, he's reaching around her saying, "Here, let me get that for you," and she steps to the side, all doll eyes, allowing him to open up the door for her.

"You know how difficult it is to reach you," Rick continues, "and Mister Ryan made it perfectly clear he wouldn't set up another appointment with you. This seemed to be the best option to see you again."

"I don't understand why a notorious Playboy, New York's Eligible Bachelor Number Nine," she sneers at the moniker, obviously finding the title distasteful, "who could have any woman in the city, would be interested in a lowly, successful Escort?"

Her words stir something deep inside him, enrage the 'Caveman' in him, and the next instant he's doing something out of character, something VERY stupid. . . He's pushed her back against the brick wall, his muscled frame pinning her in place, blue eyes flaming with unresolved sexual tension.

She's startled, wide eyed, breathing stymied, lips parted in a soft 'O'; her tantalizing chest heaving up and down, up and down.

"Because you're worthy of getting to know." Both his palms land on the brick, right next to the side of her face, and he leans in, warm breath puffing out over her lips. "I want to know about your past, the woman who's hidden beneath the Diamond persona. I want to know what makes you tick, what makes you dream, what makes you smile and laugh, what makes you," his eyes freefall to her lips, "scream."

She delicately swallows and he watches the feminine glide of her throat before his eyes are drawn back up to her plump mouth. Her sparkling white teeth pull teasingly on her lower lip.

_Jesus, she's got to stop doing that right now or I won't be held accountable for my actions._

"Castle, I don't want to be just another conquest, - another notch on your bedpost."

"You wouldn't be. . . I'm hoping to be yours."

She's so damn close and all he'd have to do is twist his body an inch and take one half-step closer and she'd be able to feel how affected he is by her, feel this raging-hard on that only she can tame.

He tempers his instinct, willing her to make the next move.

She's assessing him with eyes the color of freshly mown grass in the summertime, deep, rich, pure. . . Eyes he'd never tire of waking up to every single morning.

"Rick, - "

"You've got to be fuckin' kiddin' me," says a hispanic voice directly behind him. "So Alexander Rogers is actually Richard Castle, metro-sexual author. You've got some balls, man."

_If looks could kill._

"Diamond, you want me to take care of this Bozo?"

"No, I can handle him," she purrs, eyes never straying from Rick's. "Espo, I'm giving you the rest of the night off."

Castle's lips lift at her words, broaden to a devilish smirk and then erupt in a full blown, 'Hang-on-as- I'm-going-to-give-you-the-ride-of-your-life-proving-just-how-irresistible-I-am', grin.

He leans into her ear, whispering huskily, "I'm looking forward to every single second of you 'handling' me."

She shakes her head from side to side, withholding a smile of her own as this rugged man in front of her certainly doesn't need more encouragement.

"Get off me, you brute," she teases and pushes him away.

Rick dramatically stumbles backwards and with a flirty wink catches himself. He stands up straight, actually puffing out his chest, and flashes Esposito a gloating smile that could rival even, "The Fonz."

"Are you sure you want to go out with this guy, Diamond? He looks like he could use a woman turning him down now and then."

She chuckles, "Stop worrying about me. I have this one wrapped around my little finger. . . Get outta here. Go and surprise Lanie tonight."

"Only if you're sure."

She throws him her patented eye roll in response.

Before he leaves. Espo gives Castle an evil glare, one with undercurrents of, I-know-where-you-live-and-it-wouldn't-be-the-first-time-I-had-to-hide-a-body.

"Take care of her, Castle."

"You can count on it."

After her bodyguard is a good ten feet away, Rick turns to her with wicked intent and says brazenly, "I'd like to take care of you in more ways than one."

"I may just hold you to that, Writer boy," and then she's walking away from him, the hem of the coat dancing along the back of her lower thighs, a sexy gait in her step which has him biting his knuckles ardently, wondering how he's going to survive the night.


	10. Chapter 10

"Stop it," she demands, trying not to smile at his antics.

"Stop what?" he asks, oozing male chauvinistic charm.

"Stop fantasizing."

"Why, Diamond, just because your mind's in the gutter doesn't necessarily mean mine is as well."

She joyfully laughs, and the sound fills the limousine and leeches into his heart.

"My mind's mulling over the fact that I'm sitting in the back of a limo with my fav - " she quickly corrects herself, "with a famous author."

"What kind of author am I?" he prods.

"One who thinks he's better than he actually is."

"My book sales happen to back up my superior skills."

"Your book sales prove that Americans happen to be grossly fascinated with murder."

His eyes meld with hers. "This American happens to be grossly fascinated with you."

Their bodies are perpendicular to one another in the back of the limo; their knees barely an inch apart and he has to consciously keep reminding himself to only look at her face, not be a complete douche by drooling over her legs. Those fuckin toned legs he can see far too much of, which he envisions wrapping around his waist and squeezing his ass as she grinds down sinfully.

She gazes at him as if he's the first man she's come across that she can't quite figure out and it makes her uncomfortable as well as extremely hmm . . . if he had to put a word to it, he'd say 'hot.'

And most definitely bothered.

Her stare pierces every pore on his skin and his blood boils and thrums in response to her heated gaze; her lips part while she's unconsciously thinking, making him wonder what will come out of her sultry mouth next.

"You are certainly a red-blooded American male as you're NOT fantasizing very loudly."

His answering smarmy grin would give Robert De Niro a run for his money. "Now I'm not admitting to anything. . . "

"Of course not."

"But if I were, what do you think I'm fantasizing about?"

"You're wondering, - " and the toe of her pump glides along his Ferragamo loafers, "if I'm wearing my birthday suit beneath this trench coat and exactly how long it would take to find out."

"3.3 seconds flat," flies out of his mouth without a thought and her answering, I-love-a-man-who's-quick-with-his-hands, smirk keeps his cock achingly aware of her.

"I'm not, you know," she sighs, looking as stunningly brilliant as her name.

"Not what?"

"Stark naked beneath this coat."

"Hmm, I didn't think you were."

"You're a terrible liar."

He plays affronted, all droopy eyelids and down turned lips. "I'm envisioning you wearing an elegant silk, lilac negligee with cream lace trim, a sweetheart neckline and barely long enough to skim that magnificent ass."

"Let me guess. . . With a matching thong?"

"Of course," he chuckles, "Because you dressed like a Victoria Secret model would make even a devoted Monk rethink his vows."

"Interesting. I would have pegged you more as a slutty-black-leather-kind-of-guy."

"I'm officially offended," but from his, I-get-off-on-verbal-sword-play tone of voice, he's anything but. . . "I prefer a woman to look beautifully classy with just a hint of bad-girl edge, rather than if she walked straight out of 'Lady Irena's House of Pain'."

"So you prefer the girl-next-door type compared to the sexually liberated woman?"

"No, not necessarily. A promiscuous woman who knows who she is and exactly what she wants from a man is extremely appealing. . . Let's just say my type of woman is the perfect combination of both."

A slight flush rises to the apple of her cheeks and he can tell by the way her fingers nervously smooth down the coat, she's interpreted correctly he's hoping she's that woman.

"I have a prediction about tonight," he husks out, moving his body more towards her so their knees graze one another.

"So in addition to being a creative author, you also dabble in fortune telling?"

"I'm a man of many talents. I'm hoping you'll let me demonstrate a few tonight."

"Woah, down boy," she chuckles, and those multi-colored eyes leer at him from head to toe. "I'm the one who's in charge this evening, remember? . . . I owe you a tour. Where would you like to umm," and her tongue snakes out and licks her lower lip, "start?"

_Glorious fuck__,_ everything about her infers she'd like to give him a tour of her body, the, I-prefer-to-stay-naked-all-day-long voice, the fluttering of her thick as molasses lashes, her Heidi Klum gams crossing one over the other, purposefully allowing him to catch a glimpse of black chiffon beneath the coat.

He wants to tour so many places on her delectable flesh, - lift up her straight hair and start at the sweet spot on the nape of her neck, nibble at the smooth juncture of her neck and shoulder, taste every freckle, every blemish and mole as his lips map out her back, down her spinal column until he reaches. . .

"I'd like to start by learning your name."

"Castle," she says with teasing exasperation. "That's not going to happen, so STOP asking."

"Wow. You're sure being demanding tonight." A smile creeps into his voice to match his frisky mood. "Castle, stop fantasizing," he mimics her. "Castle, stop asking my name. . . When do I get the chance to ask you to 'stop' something?"

"Well that would be a first," and her eyes light up devilishly. "No man has ever asked me to stop anything before."

"I plan on being your first in MANY different things."

"Hypothetically speaking, if I were to give you permission, - and that's a Biiiig If, - what would you ask of me?"

His eyes hone in on her exotic face, his hand following suit, and he brushes the back of it across her silky cheek, fingers delving in the layers of her hair.

"Stop being Diamond for just a couple of hours and let me be with you. . . The girl who was most likely raised in an upper class family because she exudes stellar manners and grace, but who suffered a deep tragedy which affected every facet of her life. The woman whose heart of gold was once an open book but is now hidden inside a steel safe, just waiting for the right man to come along and figure out the combination to unlock it. The woman who hopes one day she can put back together the pieces of her shattered life. . . Let me be privy to her," he pleads, "the one who's striving for inner peace but wonders if she'll ever find it."

He knows he's hit close to home by her quick intake of breath and her eyes darting away from his.

He has to strain to hear her as she says barely above a whisper, "I may have underestimated you, Richard Edgar Castle."

Castle swears under his breath as Brandon's voice floats over the intercom, interrupting them.

"Mister Castle, we're five minutes away from our destination."

She pulls away from his touch and glares at him teasingly. "Five minutes away? I thought I was in charge of this date. What exactly do you have planned for us because I happen to hate surprises."

"That's impossible. No woman hates surprises."

"I'm not like most women."

"So I've noticed," he drawls, before hitting the intercom and telling Brandon to head towards the rear hangar. "I want to be your tour guide tonight. Show you the city I love through my eyes."

"Really now? And what if I refuse?"

"You won't."

"And why not?"

He sits back and interlocks his fingers behind his head, grinning outrageously, emitting a raunchy Don-Juan vibe. "Because you've finally met your match in a man."

"Mmm, the tabloids didn't embellish your cocky nature."

"They also didn't embellish my other fine, _manly_ attributes."

"You sure do seem anxious to show me those," and her eyes fall daringly to his crotch, "attributes, Writer Boy."

He chuckles, "That's the understatement of the year, but I happen to be a very patient man."

"I doubt you even know the meaning of the word."

"I'd love to prove to you just how patient I can be, - especially in the bedroom."

Her leg starts swinging back and forth, back and forth, those fuck-me-heels skimming along his pant leg. "I may have to go against my better judgement and test you someday."

The hidden promise behind her words has his cock throbbing in cadence with his galloping heart.

"I predict you're going to have the most memorable time of your life tonight," his eyes skim to the zipper at the top of the trench coat, "and by the time the night ends," then fall to the knot at her waist, "you'll gladly give me your name."

He finally zeros in on those gorgeous gams; I-am-undoubtedly-a-leg-man, radiating from every fiber of his being.

"Dream on," she laughs. "Many men have tried," but her 'come hither' voice tells him she's hoping he's the one to get past all her barriers and extract the information.

_So many possibilities and they all end up with the same outcome._

Him.

Her.

Uncontrollable, out of this world passion.

Naked, slick bodies.

Hours of immense, carnal pleasure.

Rick determines to win this round, no matter what the cost. This woman who's in his veins and fueling his deepest fantasies doesn't stand a chance if he brings his 'A game', but as he takes in her svelte form and lovely pink mouth, which has the power to unhinge a man, he's worried he just might be the one who doesn't stand a chance.

She's honestly can't believe where she is. . . Sitting next to her favorite author with a headset on, helicopter blades whirring loudly overhead, looking down at the captivating city blanketed in a sea of lights.

She has to admit she's pretty impressed with his ingenuity as no man's ever thought before to take her on a helicopter tour.

The view from the chopper's stunning. . . The setting sun's spewing red and pink rays into the darkened sky, creating an artist's dream of color.

"Oh my God, Castle, this is just incredible." She looks around in awe at the brilliance of New York. "I've always known how blessed I am to be living in such a beautiful city but from this view, it literally takes my breath away."

His voice deepens, rasps out, "Yes, absolutely incredible, utterly breathtaking," and she doesn't have to see his eyes caressing her face to know he's talking about her.

Gawd, the way he's looking at her, - possessive, covetous, - she's seriously thinking about throwing caution to the wind and just owning the man.

She pictures himself kneeling in front of him, placing one hand on his strong thigh, the other between his legs, fingers slightly grazing his manhood. She'll tip forward, her mouth millimeters away from his and beg, "Take me, Castle," before her lips slide across his large mouth, finally tasting him.

She can practically taste the dark roast coffee and sinful desire rolling off his tongue, feel the growth of his cock as she deepens the kiss, feel. . .

"Alright folks," Dave, their pilot, speaks to them through the headset, "off to the right is New York Harbor and Liberty Island. And there she is, the ever-impressive Statue of Liberty. She was a gift from France back in 1886 representing Libertas, the Roman Goddess of Freedom. . . She stands 151 feet tall and is a welcoming sight to all who arrive from abroad."

"Have you ever visited Ellis Island?" he asks.

"Yes, I've been on the Statue of Liberty tour twice before. Both times were in my youth."

"So were you born and raised here?"

"Yes, Manhattan born and bred," she chuckles, "I'm afraid I'll never leave. New York is officially my home."

No need to divulge she has to stay close to her father to keep an eye on him, make sure he attends his AA meetings and doesn't fall off the wagon, - again, and she isn't about to reveal she wants to be near her mother's gravestone so she can visit often.

"Where did you go to high school?"

"Stuyvesant High."

"I'd bet in addition to taking all AP courses," he teases, "you were on the Minority Rights Council as well as the debate team, and had the reputation of being a heart breaker."

"Close," she grins, sighing dramatically. "Yes, I took several AP classes but I'll have you know I was head of the drama team and on the fund-raising committee. Our school worked with a couple of local charities to help underprivileged families."

"Ahh, you were the Principal's pet."

"Hardly," she chuckles, "but I did spend a fair amount of time in his office."

"Why Diamond, are you hinting you were a troublemaker in school?" By the bold, Oh-my-God, look in his eyes, he's seriously hoping she'll confirm his theory and relay a scandalous secret.

"Let's just say he didn't appreciate it when I started driving my Harley to school every day."

His peony-blue eyes grow wide as saucers at the same time his mouth drops open in an, Unbelieveable,-I-didn't-think-it-was-possible-but-you-just-became-fuckin-hotter-in-my-eyes, kind of way.

"Stop visualizing me in skin tight leather, straddling a motorcycle, Castle. . . And here I thought you weren't a leather-type-of-guy."

"Where you're concerned, I'm-any-type-of-guy," he says sheepishly. "But there goes my fantasy of you being head cheerleader right out the window."

"Head cheerleader, really? . . . I wouldn't have pegged you as that cliche high school boy. I picture you being drawn more to the shy brainiac; the girl who dreams of numbers and a guy who can sweep her off her romantic feet with just his vocabulary."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I fell into the category of the shallow, typical guy falling for the snooty, popular girl, the one who never paid any attention to the four-eyed bookworm."

"A typical guy, huh? I get the impression you're anything but _typical._"

His gaze is melting her from the inside out; imprinting on her flesh as he looks solely at her instead of the scenery around them.

They fly over the Manhattan Bridge, as well as the Empire State Building, all the while listening to the Pilot's energetic voice giving them facts and figures about each of the monuments, and if she were a betting woman, she'd bet a month's salary he won't remember a thing on the tour because his concentration is solely on her.

How has this man in a span of barely a week been able to turn her life upside down and make her hope for the unattainable dream?

She's hyper aware of him as they're sitting on a small bench seat, only a few inches separating their thighs from touching. The heat radiating from off his body is almost palpable. His eyes are spewing desire, filling her with unsurpassed need, drugging her with the possibilities of unseen pleasures, the possibility of burning alive under his touch.

She wonders what his reaction would be if she got the courage to just mount him, - jump on those massive thighs and splay herself wantonly over him, inhale his scent, breathe through his kisses, survive the inferno through him.

"The last place on our tour is Central Park," Dave says. "It's beauty covers over 800 acres of land and is the most visited Park in the entire U.S.A."

"Oh God," she whispers, gazing out the window at the scenic park below.

Unexpected tears prick at her eyes as she catches a glimpse of a landmark she's familiar with.

A memory assails her of when she was a young girl, holding her mother's hand while walking along the pedestrian path.

Her throat starts to clog as she sees the metal swing set and merry-go-round Johanna nicknamed, 'Katie's place."

A wave of emotion claws at her chest when she notices the bike trail leading to the lake. She sees herself at 13, bubbling over with happiness, not a care in the world, with her mother at her side, biking along the path until they come to an empty bench to rest upon. . . How she loved throwing stale pieces of bread to the ducks and geese, watching them amble their way up to shore where her mother would laughingly try to pet one.

"Diamond, what's wrong?" Castle asks, reaching for her hand.

"It's nothing really. It's just been such a long time since, - " she swipes embarrassingly at the corner of her eye, "since I've seen the park."

"There's obviously something more," he says soothingly, trying to coax her to open up to him.

She nibbles briefly on her lip, tears glistening in her hazel eyes and with her heart on her sleeve says, "Thank you, Rick. You've done something I thought was near impossible."

"Who me?" he jests, rubbing his thumb enticingly over the back of her palm. "An egotistical author who believes you've finally met your match? A writer who knows he needs a woman like you in his life to ground him?"

His words swirl around her in a vortex of yearning, whipping through her battered heart, - making her wish for more with this man who has the ability to completely undo her, make her believe in fate and destiny and forever.

_Oh fuck_, he's doing it again, looking at her as if she's the most tempting dessert on the planet and he can't wait to sink his teeth into her flesh and enjoy one sweet morsel at a time.

"Yes you, Writer boy," and she flashes him her thousand-watt smile. "You made this happen," and her hand squeezes his lovingly. "You brought back some beautiful memories for me that I thought were long forgotten."

"I did, huh?" and his smarmy, I-am-so-going-to-take-advantage-of-this-situation grin, tells her what he's going to say next. "How do you plan on thanking me?"

"The night's still young and it depends on whether you're a good boy or not."

"Define 'good'."

"'Good' can have multiple meanings," she purrs, "and I'm afraid you'll fall short in a few of the categories."

_He'd better fall short as I need the master of, I-can-make-you-scream-all-night-long, to come out and play._

"I'll make it easy for you," and his bad-boy vibe has her thinking about pulling down the zipper of her coat and showing him what's beneath. "There's only one thing I want from you."

"Only one?"

"One," he says firmly, and from the honorable, stalwart look in his eyes she _almost_ believes him.

"In my experience, no man EVER just wants one thing from me."

"Hey, have I ever lied to you?" and his hand cups her face gently, raising her eyes to his.

"I don't believe so."

"Good" and his sexy-as-a-Chippendale-dancer smile makes her want to grab his metro sexual collar and yank him towards her, losing herself inside his witty mouth. "Because I haven't. . . The only thing I want from you, Diamond, is to know your real name."

"Damn Castle," and her eyes roll of their own accord. "You sound like a broken record. Why is it so important to you?"

"Be - cause," he says throatily, placing a tendril of hair behind her ear, "I'm not going to fuck Diamond. . . I'm going to make love to the woman with the beautiful, damaged soul."


	11. Chapter 11

"I will not be calling you Diamond, when I worship your body. . . I refuse to call you anything but your given name," his thumb swipes greedily along her lower lip, "when I make you come."

_God, this man and his words. He has me all tangled up inside, - hot and horny and . . . _

"You're a very dangerous man," she whispers, trying hard to disguise how he's affecting her. "And right now, I can't afford more danger in my life."

"I'm not dangerous, just determined. . . Determined to have you be a part of my life."

Her breathing's stilted and her heart's thundering like she's being chased by a serial killer and she's about to lose herself in those eyes as blue as the Pacific Ocean and as deep as the Grand Canyon.

"At times, there's a very fine line between 'determined' and 'dangerous' and you definitely fall into the later category. . . You're dangerous to any woman who has a pulse."

"It's nice to know you're not unaffected by me. . . I was starting to worry."

"You worry, Mister Castle?" and her laughter dispels the cloud of tension surrounding them. "When have you ever worried about a woman being immune to your charms?"

"Not ever. . . Until now."

"Okay folks," Dave's voice filters through the intercom. "It's a good thing we're headed back to the airport because I've just been advised of a summer storm warning. We're about five minutes away from the hangar. Make sure your seat belts are taut."

Rick immediately reaches for her belt, securing it, eyes lingering on the knot of her trench coat; fingers itching to unwrap it and sneak a peek beneath. "Let's make sure you're safe because I certainly don't want anything _dangerous_ happening to you," he teases.

"It's already too late for that."

A gust of wind sweeps beneath the chopper and it sways unnaturally, causing her stomach to leap to her throat.

"Oh my God," and her hand clasps Rick's deathly tight as she closes her eyes, taking deep breaths.

"Listen to my voice," he soothes. "It's just a bit of turbulence. We're going to arrive safely on the ground in a couple of minutes."

She nods her head up and down, signifying she's heard him, but the rosy hue in her cheeks has vanished, replaced by an ashen pallor. Her neck drops back onto the back of the seat and a squeak of fright escapes her lips as the chopper suddenly drops.

He cradles her head and places it on his shoulder, whispering words of comfort into her hair.

"Sorry about the turbulence, Mister Castle. I'm shocked by how quickly the storm hit us."

"Not a problem, Dave. Just land us safely, please."

The rain drops start spattering the windshield and Kate hears the exact moment the clouds open up and pour out their fury.

Large, clear drops, like Heaven's tears, cascade down the tinted windows and blur her vision of the city.

Her head is cocooned on his shoulder; her left hand clinging to his polo shirt, bunching up the fabric while her right hand is intertwined with his. She feels his muscular chest beneath her fingertips, can practically hear his strong heartbeat as his addicting, manly smell wafts around her.

The lost young woman in her can't help but notice how good this feels, just to lean on a man, depend on him, allow him to take care of her.

She gets the impression Rick would be extremely doting and attentive in a relationship, unselfish to a fault, putting her needs above his own, making sure her happiness was foremost in his mind, but, the devil on her shoulder whispers, "All that will change as soon as he comprehends just how damaged you truly are."

The strong, independent woman, the one who's never had to rely on a man for anything before tells her to stop this before it spirals out of control, because fairy tales certainly don't exist and in her reality, dreams don't come true.

She's already fallen too fast, too hard, too deep, and her heart wouldn't survive losing him, - wouldn't survive having this amazing man in her life to only be tossed away when the going got tough, when he couldn't deal any longer with her traumatic past or the pains of the present.

As soon as the chopper lands, she uncurls herself from him and unlocks the seat belt, needing to put as much space between herself and his gorgeous physique as possible.

"You should've mentioned flying sometimes makes you squeamish," he teases. "It's a good thing to know about you so next time, I'll be prepared."

"There won't be a 'next time'."

Even if the chill of the rain hadn't been seeping through the helicopter door, Rick would've felt the chill in the air from her tone.

Dave opens the sliding door and before he can unsnap his own belt, she's stepping past him and is out the chopper, the wind whipping her hair across her face, sorrow filling those unforgettable eyes.

_Damn, something's seriously wrong._

He frantically tries to recall their conversation, but nothing immediately jumps out at him; he can't pinpoint the moment things changed.

Had he accidentally offended her? Had he been too confidant, too eager, too demanding?

He puts a $50 bill into Dave's hand and thanks him for the tour but when he turns back to Diamond, she's already ten feet ahead of him, walking towards the limo.

Wind barrels by her and that sexy maroon trench coat blows off her legs revealing an itty bitty black dress.

He would have thoroughly loved seeing her in it, can imagine the way it swoops low over her breasts, molding her lithe frame, accentuating her womanly curves.

He curls his fists in frustration as by the stiffness of her shoulders and her, I-can't-get-away-from-you-fast-enough step, nothing more is going to happen between them tonight.

_What in the world happened?_

A simmering anger starts building in his chest but he tamps it down, trying to calm himself, as he needs some answers from the beautiful minx before jumping to any conclusions.

"Diamond," he calls, the rain drops cooling his heated flesh as he goes after her.

She leans back against the rear limo door, face up into the sky, and he watches in fascination as a single drop hits her jaw and glides down the elegant slope of her neck, trickling along her breastbone beneath the coat.

_Fuck__,_ how is she even more alluring while wet, tendrils of hair sticking to her face, a smudge of mascara brushed beneath her eye? The rain makes her eyes look more brown than green, murky pools of emotion he wishes he could decipher.

He visualizes closing her eyelids and placing his lips there, kissing away whatever's ailing her, but he restrains himself from acting on the impulse.

"Castle, I'm sorry, but this, - " her index finger wags between them, "Us. . . It's not going to happen. We will never work."

His heart seizes at her words, feels like it's trapped in a compactor, slowly being squeezed to death. He tries to keep the devastation out of his voice as he replies, "How do you know if you're not willing to give us a chance?"

"I'm going to save us both a lot of wasted time and effort by ending this before it's even begun."

"What the hell are you so afraid of?" He moves towards her, eyes glazed and black, simmering with arousal. "Are you afraid I might actually start melting the ice crystals surrounding your heart? Afraid I'll make an indelible impression on your life? Afraid I'm the one man who can dig under that wall of yours and crawl my way to you? Afraid that once you have me, you'll never want to let me go?"

"You're an arrogant jackass," she fumes, eyes sparking with fear that he's able to read her like an open book. "I know your type and you'll never be able to understand why I chose to be an Escort. It's my choice, and contrary to popular belief, no one forced me into this life. No man will ever be able to understand and get past what I do for a living. And you, Mister-God's-Gift-to-Women, are no exception."

"Don't lump me in with the rest of the bastards you sleep with." He steps closer to her, all male bulk crowding her against the limo. "I happen to be secure enough in my manhood, in who I am, not to let your job be my Achilles heel. It will not be our downfall."

He takes a frustrated breath before continuing, holding her turbulent gaze, "Will it bother me at times? Of course, I'm human, but would it stop me from seeing you again, be the catalyst in walking away from you? Never. I can honestly say, unequivocally, No. You being an Escort won't make or break us."

He lifts the back of his hand and grazes it across the beauty mole on her left cheek. "Only you have that type of power."

Her eyes dash away from him, and he wonders if the liquid sliding down her cheek bone happens to be a tear or a raindrop.

"I know you feel this unbelievable chemistry between us," he continues boldly. "What we have is extremely rare, possibly happens only once in a lifetime, and I can't let you go without exploring this, - exploring how extraordinary we could be together. Please, - " and he leans in, lips skating over her Marilyn Monroe mole before he husks in her ear, "don't throw away potentially the greatest relationship we could both have in our lifetimes."

He sees the softening in her eyes, the way her shoulders droop, and his cock tightens as her mouth falls open seductively.

"You don't get it, Rick," she says dejectedly. "There's no happily-ever-after for me. You were right about my tragic past. My life's fucked up right now, - has been for the past twelve years. I've got too much baggage to ever be complete again and I won't expose myself to the possibility of more pain."

"Exposing yourself can also bring about incredible joy and happiness, let alone peace. . . Let me in, Diamond. I want to be the one guy who makes a difference in your life. . . I can be," and his voice lowers in a lover's caress as his eyes burn into hers, "the **one** man who makes you whole once more."

"No. It's over. I'll ask Ryan to refund your money as I'm cutting the date short. Please tell your driver to take me home."

Anger combined with arousal can be a deadly combination.

It roils through his bloodstream and pummels through his brain, making him half-crazed and it brings out the dark side in him, makes him want to punish her for the long, lonely nights he'll suffer for many years to come.

"It was never about the God-damn money. Ryan can keep it for all I care. It was only ever about you. How do you not know that by now?"

"I'm not worth it. You're better off without me in the long run."

"So this is it, huh?" he grates. "You get to make the final decision which affects both of our lives?"

"I'm sorry," she whispers and then she's fuckin nibbling on that lower lip and he just loses it.

L-O-S-E-S it.

"'Sorry' just don't cut it, babe. I'm going to give you a taste of what you'll be missing," and his eyes signify his intent just before his lips slam onto hers, - harsh, grueling, violent in their intensity.

His hand clasps onto the back of her neck, pulling her towards him where their bodies mesh perfectly, - soft curves and luscious femininity pressed against his hard planes.

She tastes like tears and rain and a heavenly dessert he'll never be able to sample again.

He growls into her mouth as his tongue slips between the seam of her lips, searching for hers.

He wants her to never forget this moment, never forget him, as his tongue battles with hers, tangling and sparring in time with his frantic pulse.

A hint of vanilla latte consumes him as he owns the kiss, not letting her breathe except through him.

His left hand seeks the hem of her coat and his fingers trickle over the fabric before delving beneath, finally finding and touching smooth, sleek skin.

She jumps at his touch, - then moans, - something dirty and delicious which has him pressing her back into the frame of the limo, his pants bursting at the seams.

Her arms snake round his neck at the same moment his fingers dig into her thigh, dragging up the taut muscle until he finds the silk of the little black dress. He palms the fabric, wishing they were in another time, another place, where she would have the courage to give them a chance.

_Damn her._

He wishes he was more of a scoundrel, the devil Lothario the tabloids portray him to be, as then he'd have the courage to tear the trench coat from her body, see what lies beneath and take her filthily against the side of the car.

_Damn himself_ for falling for someone he could never have in the first place.

He rips away from her, dragging his eyes away from her kiss swollen lips, unable to bear the vision of her wet as a mermaid and tempting as a siren, - looking as if she longs for a fuck-session with him.

He opens the front door of the limo forcefully, tells Brandon to take Diamond wherever she wants to go and then strolls away, heading inside the hangar.

He doesn't look back, not even a quick peek to see if she gets in the vehicle, just walks away from her, hoping he can forget her taste, her cherry scent which lingers in his memory, and those legs which would make any man drool.

He hopes he can forget her mesmerizing eyes and the sultry voice he knows will fuel his wet dreams for countless nights to come.

He hopes, by the end of the year, he can forget the woman who's an expert at chewing men up and spitting them out, - but he's afraid, it just might be an eternity.


	12. Chapter 12

**Thanks to Malwina for finding a song for Rick/Diamond, Michael Jackson's, 'In The Closet'.**

**...**

She hears the restraint in his voice vanish as he grounds out, "'Sorry' just don't cut it, babe. I'm going to give you a taste of what you'll be missing," and his eyes drop to her lips before attacking them.

_Holy Mother of God__,_ she's lost in his mouth, his lips on a mission to tease, torture, and mark her as his.

His hand clasps onto the back of her neck, pulling her towards him where their bodies mesh like yin and yang, - his hard planes pressed erotically against her soft curves.

He tastes like warm rain, hot nights and forbidden pleasure.

He growls into her mouth and the sound has her arching into him, splaying herself eagerly against him. She wishes he wasn't so fuckin' good at this, making her needy and wanton with one twist of his tongue, wishing he wasn't making her regret saying, 'Goodbye'.

His kiss is bruising, meant to punish, meant to make her remember him in the basest way possible and _bloody hell,_ it works as she wants more, needs more, - craving to feel his slick talented tongue on more intimate parts of her body.

She's finding it difficult to breathe, her breath caught between desire and the will to survive, but he softens the kiss, slants his lips, and her heart triple jumps when they share the same blissful oxygen.

She doesn't expect him to touch her, startles when his fingers meander under the hem of her coat, a filthy moan breaking free as his hand drags up her thigh, sensually slow, creating a scintillating burn that shoots straight to her loins.

He presses her back into the frame of the limo and when she feels his hard cock, bursting at the seams, she almost throws caution to the wind and begs him to take her.

_Almost._

Her arms snake round his neck when his talented fingers find the silk of the little black dress. He palms the fabric, and she senses the war raging within him; his innate gentleman nature warring with his animal instinct. It affects her adversely, makes her hate the 'gentleman' in him because now, she'll never be able to get him out of her soul.

He rips away from her, barely glances at her kiss swollen lips, but she sees the immense hurt in his eyes, feels the waves of desolation rolling off his body and knows she's destroyed him unlike any woman before.

It very nearly breaks her.

He opens the front door of the limo forcefully, tells Brandon to take her where ever she wants to go and then strolls away, heading inside the hangar.

He doesn't look back, not even a quick peek to see if she gets in the vehicle, just strolls away from her with a ram-rod straight back, head held high and as she watches his fine ass walk away from her for the last time, the tears begin to flow.

Fast and furious.

And she can't stop them.

**...**

She knew it was going to hurt; she just didn't expect how much.

It's been three days since their altercation. Three long days of dreaming about sorrow-filled eyes, - an unselfish heart which is amazingly larger than his size, and lips that know how to make a woman dream of endless pleasure, filled with the promise of forever.

Three days of second guessing herself and wishing she was more courageous, had more to offer him than a 20 foot wall surrounded by mounds of baggage.

She imagines how much it must have cost him to put his heart on the line, being completely open, utterly vulnerable, begging her to give them a chance, and how did she repay him? . . . By crushing his feelings, tossing them in the mud and jumping up and down on them for good measure, - telling him it's over before it's even begun, that he's better off without her in the long run.

Which she wholeheartedly believes. . . _So why then does it hurt so God-damn much?_

Her burner phone rings, interrupting her thoughts. When she notices it's Ryan, she prays he's calling to say her date tonight has been canceled as she just doesn't feel up to entertaining Eric Vaughn tonight.

It takes her a moment to process what he's saying because it's the last thing she expects to hear.

"You really did a number on Richard Castle, Diamond. The man's fallen hook, line and sinker. Will you be home for the next hour?"

"Yes, I should be. . . What did he do?" she asks breathily.

Ryan chuckles, "You may want to give this guy a second chance. Prepare to be surprised."

Within twenty minutes, the flowers begin arriving. She can't believe her eyes as the delivery crew brings in bouquet after bouquet, - three dozen flowers sent to seven of the classiest, most expensive hotels in New York, all addressed to Diamond, in care of Kevin Ryan.

Now, she's sitting in her apartment, circled by calla lilies, orchids, pink roses and purple hyacinths, the smell surrounding her, engulfing her in their sweetness, and she knows every single flower signifies something meaningful.

She begins opening up card after card, each with a different, special message.

God, the man sure is talented in bringing out her sappy-romantic-cry-at-the-drop-of-a-hat side. She fights off moisture clinging to her eyelashes as she reads each card.

'Thank you for sharing a small part of yourself with me, for being my inspiration to write once more. RC'

'If you ever need someone, I'm here for you, anytime, anyplace.'

'I'm sorry for how things ended between us. If I could turn back time, I'd prevent you from leaving the helicopter until the storm subsided, proving to you with every minute we shared just how incredible we'd be together.'

"May you find the one man who truly deserves you.'

There's even a famous quote from Shakespeare: 'Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant I saw you, Did my heart fly at your service.'

_Could the man be any more romantic?_

Tears come dangerously close to spilling over her lashes as she reads his last card, 'You've got your wish, I won't pursue you any longer. May you find the happiness you so richly deserve. RC'

She traipses into her bedroom, heads to her bookcase and pulls off the shelf her mother's hard-back, ragged copy of, 'A Calm Before The Storm'. She opens the book to the title page and holds up one of his cards. Sure enough, the handwriting matches the dedication in Johanna's book.

Her fingers reverently slide across the words, 'Johanna, may Derek Storm help to calm the storms in your own life. Richard Castle.'

She smiles to herself because of the irony. . . Knows how much her mother would instantly like the charismatic author, encourage him to create a turbulent storm in her daughter's life, - one filled with perseverance and passion where each partner is viewed as an equal, making one another whole.

She contemplates the preparation it must have taken on his behalf, senses his underlying hope that at least one bouquet reached her.

She wonders how many more bouquets are still out there, left undelivered. She wouldn't be surprised to learn that he had flowers delivered to every five star rated hotel in the city.

She gazes at the single crystal inset in the glass vase, a sparkling white jewel meant to resemble a Diamond.

_Sweet, thoughtful man._

She pulls out a small pink bud from a bouquet, breaks off the stem, and presses it into her Mother's book.

She hears again in her mind, "What we have is extremely rare, possibly happens only once in a lifetime and I can't let you go without exploring this, - exploring how extraordinary we could be together.

It's just another thing the famous, egotistical Richard Castle is right about because _'extraordinary'_ was the understatement of the year for that explosive kiss.

Just thinking about the kiss fuckin' does it for her, - his brutal mouth ravaging hers, tongue staking his claim, stubble rasping against her cheek, hand behind her head yanking on the wet strands of her hair, struggling for air as if she's drowning, and then finally, as she surrenders to him, breathing through him refreshing air mixed with pent-up desire.

Her nipples are tingling, her panties are soaked and fuck, it makes her seriously think about calling him and apologizing, demanding he get his sexy ass over to her place and take care of her raging need.

But she won't do it.

Castle hit the nail on the head when he talked about her fears. She's too afraid to give up that type of control to a man, afraid once he realizes just how messed up her life is, understands her shattered pieces can never be put back together again, he won't be able to get away from her fast enough.

And he'll run, just like Will Sorenson did.

The angel on her shoulder says she doesn't have the right to compare the two men. Castle has never given her a reason to doubt him, but she doesn't dare take the chance, won't expose herself to the possibility of heartbreak which she'll never recover from.

She sighs and decides to no longer dwell on the writer, placing her mother's book face down on the shelf.

He's a brief moment in her past, someone who will fade with time, hopefully soon to be forgotten. . .

Her heart rebels at the thought, fills her with an undeniable yearning for the gentle man whose warm blue eyes could melt an iceberg and whose voice alone could make any woman swoon.

She grudgingly admits to herself there's no forgetting Richard Edgar Castle because he's already tattooed on her heart.

She stops dead in her tracks when she sees him.

It's intermission of the Phantom of the Opera, and as she walks into the lobby of the Majestic theater, her gaze is pulled to the bar area.

His back is to her but she instantly recognizes his brash stance, the sandy-beach-colored hair, the broad shoulders, the perfect cut of his Dolce and Gabbana suit, displaying his muscled ass to perfection.

_God__,_ she wants to mold her hands over his magnificent butt like it's artist's clay and . . .

He turns in that exact moment and even though they're surrounded by a throng of people his eyes zero in on her.

They reflect surprise, possibly wondering if she's a mirage, and she can tell the moment it dawns on him she's actually there in the flesh, only a few feet away from him.

His eyebrow quirks and he flashes her a suave, I-can't-believe-my-luck-right-now smile, before mouthing the words, "You look stunning."

She's drawn to him like a moth to a flame and begins walking towards him, all swaying hips and glorious smile.

His orbs darken to deep pools of lust as he admires her form, eyes hovering on the soft swell of breasts hidden beneath the eggplant colored fabric.

"Why Mister Castle," she purrs, suddenly in a flirty mood, hoping she can rankle the, he's-just-too-handsome-for-the-female-population-to-handle, author. "Are you stalking me?"

She has to give kudos to the man. He responds naturally, without giving anything away, in a voice that's as smooth as melted milk chocolate.

"I wouldn't dare stalk you," and his answering smirk brings up an overwhelming desire to remove that smugness with her own lips. "I'd be too afraid you'd sic your thug of a bodyguard on me, and he'd," his fingers glide over his jaw line, "disfigure this ruggedly-handsome mug."

"Hmm, it would certainly be a shame to mar that pretty face."

"I thought we already discussed this," and his lower lip juts out adorably, trying to portray he's offended. "Pretty's not an adjective to describe me."

"You have a pretty endearing way about you that's hard for a woman to resist."

"Yet somehow, you were able to say 'no' to all this," and his hand swoops down over himself in a Vanna White impersonation, "temptation."

"I hate to admit it," and her eyes drift down his body slowly, "but you certainly wear 'temptation' well."

"Why Diamond, are you hinting your resolve to stay away from me is wavering?"

"No," she laughs and her eyes light up teasingly. "I'm hinting I can understand why women find you attractive."

"You can't take that back now, you know," he teases, winking in an, It's-only-a-matter-of-time-before-I-destroy-your-defenses-and-make-you-surrender-to-me, vibe.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Her hand rises to the wedding ring around her neck, rubbing it unconsciously. "Thank you for the flowers. They were such a nice surprise, extremely beautiful."

He chuckles, and it's deep and sexy and _Oh Gawd__,_ he looks so freaking edible right now in a black-as-a-starless-night suit with crisp white shirt that makes him look hotter than Jason Statham walking down the red carpet.

"I'm happy to hear at least I did something right."

"It was more than right, Rick, it was exactly what I needed to remember you by."

"There are so many other incredible, INAPPROPRIATE things I could give you to remember me by."

His unnerving, I-could-push-you-up-against-the-nearest-wall-and-eagerly-fuck-you-in-front-of-all-these-people stare, has her flushed and feeling lightheaded and needing a drink immediately.

"Would you mind ordering me some water?"

"Not at all. . . Max," he calls out to the bartender, "a water bottle for the lady please."

"Coming right up, Mister Castle."

Once she has the bottle in hand, taking delicate sips, he pulls his eyes away from the mesmerizing glide of her throat to say, "I meant every single word on those cards."

"I know," she sighs softly. "I wish you didn't because it makes our situation that much harder. . . You're too eloquent for your own good."

His lips widen into a dashing, I'm-taking-that-as-a-compliment-and-running-with-it, grin. "Being eloquent goes hand-in-hand with the writer territory and if you like, there's certainly more where that came from."

_Yeah, more where that came from,__ s_he thinks salaciously, _in a locked bedroom with 1000 count thread sheets, whipped topping, caramel sauce and silk ties._

He takes a gulp of his drink, eyes never leaving her face as they peek above the rim.

The air crackles between them, sparks of attraction she feels with every fiber of her being, from her finger tips to her tippy toes, making her overtly aware of his masculinity; - his strong shoulders, wide chest, massive guns that would have no problem lifting her up and holding her in place against any hard surface while he had his dirty way with her, those masculine thighs barely straining from the effort.

_How the hell does this man make me feel like I've never truly experienced sex before?_

She senses he's trying to gather up the nerve to say something straight from his heart, - something sensual and poetic which might make her finally succumb to him, so she quickly asks, "How many bouquets did you send?"

"Ten. How many did you receive?"

"Seven."

"Seven just happens to be my lucky number."

"You planning on getting lucky tonight, Cas - sle?"

"Who me?" and his eyes mold to hers. "No, I happen to be stupidly waiting for the _unattainable_ woman."

Her smile slowly fades at his words while her eyes glint a hazy shade of emerald.

"She needs you to stop waiting, Writer Boy," and she looks away from him, unable to hold his electric gaze any longer. "She's a lost cause."

Her creamy skin has been calling to him ever since she walked towards him like a Grecian Goddess in an elegant, flowing, dark purple gown, and he can't resist the temptation any longer.

The backs of his fingers trickle over her angular jaw and down the feminine slope of her neck, sliding along the chain.

He husks out, "The last thing you are is a 'lost cause'. You're a beautiful, desirable woman,- inside and out. You're someone who deserves true happiness in your life, and I happen to believe I'm the one man who can give it to you."

_There he goes again, the irresistible Don Juan.__Making love to me with just his words._

"It's nice to see my tirade the other night didn't bruise your ego."

"I certainly didn't walk away unscathed," he purrs, looking at her as if she's comparable to Venus or Aphrodite, "but it made me realize something vital about you." His index finger lands on her wrist, swirling erotically. "Even though you're an expert at controlling men, relishing in the power you have over them, it's all a ruse to protect your heart."

His eyes fall daringly to her heart, where her chest rises and falls rapidly.

"Don't assume you know me," she says gently, eyes tinted with fear.

"I've only barely begun scratching the surface, and hope one day you'll trust me enough to let me see the real you."

His sexy smirk turns outright devilish as he continues, "Besides, my manhood demands I get the chance to prove I deserve the title of Writer Man."

She smiles in response, - light and carefree. "Not gonna happen," she teases, "as I'm kind of partial to the cute, little boy in you."

"Well, this little boy is dying to play with you. If you get the courage to let the woman behind Diamond come out and play, give me a call."

"Rick," and she hates how she's going to be the one to dim the hope and excitement in his eyes, her sorrowful voice only adding to the complexity of the situation. "I haven't changed my mind. There are too many reasons why we won't work."

"And I can give you twice as many more as to why we would."

Her mouth parts as she assesses him and she's just so damn lovely with her hair pulled back from her face, enlarging those colorful, expressive eyes and highlighting those model cheekbones, that he has to consciously stop himself from leaning forward an inch to skim those luscious lips.

Those kissable lips covered in dangerously sinful cherry-red lipstick.

He wishes she would let her guard drop, if only for a second, and pry open the door to her cement cage and allow him in.

"Diamond, there you are," Vaughn approaches her with a, 'You're-with-me-tonight-and-don't-you-dare-forget-it,' attitude. His hands brush down familiarly over her slender shoulders. "Are you ready to head back into the theater?"

Rick's eyes reveal shock and just a little bit of awe as he takes in the billionaire inventor.

"In a moment, Eric. I'd like you to meet, Richard Castle, the mystery novelist."

Rick's first to respond, holding out his hand in greeting. Eric grabs his, squeezing unnaturally hard, and he gets the impression the billionaire's trying to mark his territory, put him in his rightful place.

"Rick, this is Eric Vaughn."

"Hello. It's nice to meet you. I have to say how impressed I am with your newest charitable foundation. Your plan to add more recreational parks for inner city youth is just what this city needs."

"Yes, I agree. There aren't enough basketball courts or skating parks in the Bronx. Good to know you've heard about the project."

"Yes I have. It would be hard to miss on the front page of The Times."

"So you're the author of the Storm series? My mother happens to be a fan."

"Yes, one and the same," Rick chuckles. "If you'd like, I'm happy to send your Mom an autographed copy of my latest book."

"How _gen-er-ous_ of you," but his condescending tone relays he feels the author's beneath him. "I may take you up on that offer for her next birthday."

Rick scoffs to himself as it's easy to tell Vaughn is only humoring him.

_Well, at least now I can scratch him off my bucket list, the high and mighty prick._

"Diamond, the second act is about to start," Eric expresses, but it's obvious he's more anxious to pull Diamond away from him, than concerned about missing part of the play.

"It was lovely seeing you again," Rick says sincerely, his eyes reflecting hope that this isn't the end.

"Ditto, Castle. Have a nice night."

Something dark and sinister rises within him as he watches her pert ass walk away from him, arm linked through the billionaire's.

Panic swirls through his bloodstream as this could very well be the last time he sees her. He has to do something drastic to make an indelible impression on her, something she'll remember for the rest of her life.

Before he can think it through, he's reached her and grasped her slim waist, yanking her back towards him, her to-die-for ass pressed intimately against his member.

He breathes into the shell of her ear, "When Vaughn touches you tonight, the only face you'll see is MINE."


	13. Chapter 13

She can't help scanning the patrons for him before the lights dim and the second half of, 'Phantom of the Opera' begins.

She finds him within seconds, some innate sixth sense which binds them drawing her to him. Castle's sitting six rows in front of her, off to her left side.

She takes a deep cleansing breath because she fully expected him to be with a voluptuous blond, a talkative, flirtatious woman who was more cleavage than brain, who would delightfully drape herself over him and enjoy raunchy displays of public affection.

But instead, she finds his arm's slung over the back of a petite red-head's shoulder and he's laughing at something she just said, - his eyes warm, filled with love. She assumes correctly she must be his daughter Alexis, and a desire sparks to life to meet the teenage girl who is obviously the center of his world.

_Gawd, how sweet is it that he brings his daughter to the opera?_

"I wish you would have let me have security intervene when Mister Castle grabbed you earlier. What did he say to you?" Vaughn asks, an unfamiliar darkness residing in his eyes.

"I told you, Eric, it was nothing. I consider the man to be an, - umm - "

_How do you feel about him, Kate? . . . A man who makes you yearn to believe in destiny? A man who makes you feel like you've never before experienced true intimacy? A man who has the power to make you feel like you're the only woman in the world for him?_

"friend. He's a dear friend who only has my best interests at heart."

"That's not the impression I got from him. Is he a client of yours?"

She smiles tentatively, unsure of where the conversation is headed. "You know I'm not allowed to speak about my clients, but no, he's not a john."

She's not happy with the way he treated Rick, the condescending tone he took with the author, or the air of, I-happen-to-be-the-better-man-because-she's-with-me-tonight-instead-of-you.

Eric's mouth curves into a self-satisfied smirk. "Good, because you're mine tonight."

He's never before shown such a possessive attitude towards her and it's unnerving. She settles back in her seat, a feeling of uneasiness swirling around her, putting her on-edge.

She doesn't belong to any man.

He starts touching her in the back of the town car, his hand sliding beneath the plum gown, fondling her crossed shin.

"How did you like the opera?" Vaughn asks, all silken voice.

"I enjoyed it immensely. Phantom happens to be one of my favorites."

"The story is a bit too cliche for my tastes, - disfigured man falls in love with the pretty, way-out-of-his-league-young-woman and in the end, tragedy strikes, allowing the hero and heroine to live happily ever after."

"And here I thought the hero of the story is the Ghost," she teases, "and it plays out as a terrible Greek tragedy." As she gazes into eyes that are muddy brown, a fierce desire to have sky-blue eyes looking back at her engulfs her. "The best part about the play though is the music; it speaks to me."

Eric sidles next to her, smelling like a rare bottle of wine and crisp dollar bills.

"The music is certainly beautiful," and his lips land on her neck softly, "But not anywhere near as beautiful as you."

"Thank you," she sighs as his lips continue a path up the side of her throat.

Her heart flinches at his ministrations, wishing it was another pair of full, masculine lips sliding up her neck.

_I'm in serious trouble,_ she thinks, _trouble of the six-foot-two, voice-as-delicious-as- his-vocabulary, eyes-that-can-see-into-my-soul, variety._

"I've never asked you before, but a man of your caliber and wealth could have any woman you wanted. . . Why turn to an escort?"

"It's every wealthy man's dilemma. It's very difficult to tell whether or not a woman is interested in who I am, or my money. I've found that an Escort makes my life less complicated. I know exactly what I'm getting so it's a win-win situation."

"You do enjoy winning, don't you?"

"There's nothing better in life. . . Come here, Diamond," he demands and his hand curls behind her right hip, hauling her towards him.

She briefly hesitates, but then lets the force of his action pull her towards him and ends up straddling his lap.

"The actress who played Christine tonight can't hold a candle to you," and then his lips are on hers, relentless and controlling.

His mouth is thin, smooth and he tastes like stale coffee and spearmint tic-tacs; the unusual combination making her stomach turn, making her feel queasy.

As his tongue delves for hers, a shiver of repulsion runs through her and she hears Castle's voice in her mind, "You are someone who deserves true happiness in your life and I happen to believe I'm the one man who can give it to you."

_Jesus Christ,__what has that author done to me?_

Vaughn's left hand snakes up her thigh and it feels wrong on so many levels, - small, narrow digits that are cool and clammy on her flesh, while his other hand tenses around her neck, drawing her closer to him.

His fingers get bolder and as they dig into her skin, searching for her panty line, something snaps inside her and she recoils from his touch, yanking her lips from his.

"God Eric, I'm sorry," and she can't look him in the eyes. "I've got some personal things I'm dealing with right now and have so much on my mind that I can't think straight. Do you mind if we end the night early?"

"Yes, I do mind. Just don't think, Diamond." She hears a tear in the fabric as he aggressively jerks down the zipper on her dress causing a shoulder strap to fall, exposing creamy, unblemished skin. "Only feel."

Her hands plant firmly on his chest, keeping him at a safe distance, while her emerald eyes turn cold as ice. "Please listen to what I'm saying. Tonight is over. I'm happy to give you a rain check, but I need you to have your driver take me home. . . Now."

Something sinister flashes in his eyes and fear, swift and deep, pummels through her system as she fully believes he's going to refuse and take her by force.

Her heart practically thumps out of her chest as he looks at her leeringly, like no woman has ever dared refuse him before. A chill settles over her as he says darkly, "It's _him_ isn't it?"

She plays coy, hoping her acting skills are up to par. "Who are you talking about?"

"You know exactly who I'm talking about, Dia - mond," and her name flows disdainfully from his lips. "The writer, Richard Castle."

She doesn't answer him, refuses to hint she might have feelings for Rick when she hasn't even had the nerve to express them to the man in question. She gingerly backs off Vaughn's thighs, expecting at any moment for him to grab her and demand she fulfill her contract.

"Why do you think that?" she questions softly.

"Because," and his eyes fill with pain as he practically shoves her off his lap, "For the last two months we've been seeing each other, I've wished you would look at me _just once_, . . . the way you looked at him tonight."

_God dammit__,_ maybe he's not as secure in his manhood as he originally thought.

He's pacing again, has been for over an hour, thoughts racing, pent-up emotion roiling through his veins.

When he started researching New York's finest Escorts, Diamond's name kept popping up in elite circles, so he shouldn't be surprised thee Eric Vaughn hired only the best.

Vaughn, the man he looks up to, aspires to be, dare he say it? . . . His hero?

_Well, all that changed after tonight_**.**

And he never would've believed it if he hadn't of witnessed it firsthand. The man for all his brilliance and all the good he's done in the world, beneath it all is just an arrogant prick. A grade 'A', Class 1 jackass.

And that jackass just happens to be with the woman of his dreams.

His sardonic side mocks him, shouting, _You obviously both prefer the same type of woman, something else to admire in the man_**.**

Jealousy, righteous and fierce, eats away at him with every step he takes. He scoffs outright at the notion because she was never his in the first place.

He contemplates her job, is actually fine with it as long as she's sleeping with unknown, faceless men. He doesn't need to know anything about her clients, would prefer it that way, but for all his talk of bravado, telling her that her job wouldn't make or break them, he's now pacing the floor questioning himself, torturing himself with the idea of Vaughn's hands all over her, the man's smell seeping into her skin.

He's determined to get the alluring temptress out of his head and so he does the only thing that brings him some semblance of normalcy. . . He walks into his office, sits down at the computer and starts pounding away at the keyboard.

He begins pouring out his anguished soul into Nikki Heat, the one woman with the capability to destroy Jameson Rook.

Rick's not sure how long he's been furiously typing away when he hears a soft sound.

It's most likely his Iphone signaling an incoming text, but he left it out on the couch in the living room.

It's commonplace for Gina to contact him at all hours of the night to hound him for updates concerning this new series, so he ignores it, and goes back to writing a particularly difficult scene where Rook is trying to get Nikki to open up about her past.

_Sometimes,_ he thinks bitterly, _real life inspiration is just a big bite in the ass._

Thirty seconds later, a quiet tapping on his front door startles him. . . Who would be on his doorstep at 1:15 am? . . . It had better NOT be Meredith showing up as a surprise for Alexis. He can't handle his ex-wife's drama on top of his own right now.

He's only in his SuperHero boxers and thinks about going into the bedroom and pulling on a T-shirt but he's concerned the continual knocking might disturb the neighbors, so he hurries to the door.

Another round of knocking, louder this time, has him flying to open the door, ready to reprimand the impatient visitor.

As he stares into hazel eyes he'd like to look at for the rest of his life, he couldn't be more surprised if William Shatner or Jonathon Frakes had been standing on his doorstep.

"What the hell did you do to me Richard Edgar Castle?"

There's the woman of his dreams, like a bolt of lightning, - striking, effervescent, electrifying with feverish cheeks, spewing indignation.

Her hands shove roughly on his bare chest, forcing him back into the loft.

"It's - all - your - fault!"

_Ohh damn_, she's fiery mad and about to make him utterly insane as every nerve ending in his body is electrifyingly aware of her: long curls falling in disarray, elegant cheekbones prominently displayed, bright red gloss staining her lips, the royal purple hue of her dress making her skin appear as delicate as porcelain, one strap slipping and falling off her shoulder exposing tempting flesh, the length of the gown covering every inch of those tall as an Aspen legs, making a man die of curiosity to see what lies beneath.

"Because of YOU**,** I couldn't bed him."

His eyes are wide as saucers as she pushes him again, _the bold siren__;_ he stumbles backwards, trying to reassure himself this is actually happening and isn't some sick, sordid wet dream.

"Kept seeing your damn gorgeous eyes and hearing your, 'I-happen-to-be-the-most-gifted-lover-on-this-planet,' voice."

She stops and admires his bare chest, eyes roving sensuously across his pecs before swiping her tongue over her bottom lip and glaring at him. "Don't give me that little boy, I-honestly-have-no-idea-what-you're-talking-about', look because you, Mister Castle, are talented in getting under a woman's skin with that mouth of yours and burrowing so deep, she has no clue how to get you out."

As her words sink in, he smiles then, gloriously smug, all brash, straight white teeth, and she gets the impression she'll never live it down now because he won't allow her to forget she's admitted to having feelings for him, _the haughty bastard._

Her eyes shine delightfully devilish as she purrs, "I've come to the conclusion the only way to solve my dilemma is to _FUCK_ you out of my system, - so get ready, Writer-boy, to graduate to Writer-man."

She's on him like a bumblebee on a blooming flower, all devastating lips and tongue, invading his mouth with sweet, addicting nirvana.


	14. Chapter 14

**This chapter is dedicated to the one person whose obsession with Diamond out rivals even mine, Retired1984 :)**

**...**

He's losing the ability to think.

Her mouth is all hot eagerness with nimble hands to match and _Sweet Jesus_, what was that delicious moan?

Her body's pliant and curving around him, one leg wrapped around his ass while her breasts fall along his chest, feminine and gloriously heavy, and Gawd if he doesn't stop this now, make his intentions clear, she's going to succeed in fucking him senseless and then leaving him destitute in the morning.

He refuses to let this be just a fling.

Rick moans before pulling away from her, physically aches from the loss of her mouth but before she can do anything to tempt him further, he's taken a step back from her, holding her at arm's length.

She's looking up at him with sensual, molten eyes, - like she can't wait to strip him of his boxers and have her wicked way with him, devour him until he's unconscious from satisfied desire. Her lips are open and swollen, her lashes are fluttering and she's breathing frantically; his eyes drawn to the rise and swell of her firm breasts, beckoning him to worship them.

"My name is Katherine," she whispers against his neck. "Kate Beckett."

The devil in him puffs out his chest and feels like crowing to the world he was finally able to get her to lower her defenses, just enough to pull out her name, but the gentleman in him treasures the information, realizes what a difficult first step it was for her to take.

His enormous smile reflects, 'It's-about-time-you-opened-up-to-me-you-frustrating-gorgeous-woman-you.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Miss Beckett. Such a lovely name for a lovely woman." He raises her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it tenderly, eyes locked onto hers. "I want to take you farther than just the bedroom, Kate," and she trembles when she hears her first name, the meaning behind his words infiltrating her soul.

"But this isn't going to happen between us unless you agree to something first." His fingers glide along the upper curve of her breast and then tangle in the necklace which holds her mother's ring.

"Castle," and they're so in sync with one another he already knows what she's going to say. "I can't promise you anything. . . Only tonight," and her teeth sink into her lower lip. "Pl - ease, let it be enough that I chose you over - someone else."

She takes a deep breath, yearning filling her gaze and her fingers brush sensuously across his cheek. "Believe it when I say I just want you. . . I only want you."

Her aroma surrounds him, is intoxicating, fruity with the overwhelming scent of cherries; her golden flecked hazel eyes truly the window to her soul as they portray truth, - an insatiable longing for _him._

"This isn't a one night stand for me, and I'm going to prove it to you with every moment I spend with you tonight, - with every touch, every glance, every breath, every word that comes out of my mouth."

His hand swoops to the back of her neck, fingers lightly dancing along her hairline as he purrs, "Starting right now." His tongue snakes out and caresses the lip of her oral fixation.

Her mouth latches onto his, drinking him in, tongue pressing against his.

Pushing. Claiming. Demanding.

Pushing. Wanting. Needing.

Every nerve in his body is awake, aware of where she is, right there in front of him, open and ready and willing, there for his taking.

The tension between them is too heavy, expanding exponentially and the want is consuming him, making him half-crazed.

All he can think about is making her succumb to him, tattooing himself on her flesh_._

He groans, something painfully sexy, as she presses the heel of her hand to his bulging erection, and as her hand gets bolder, sneaky fingers slinking to find his cock, he does something no man has ever done before.

He grasps her waist and she's off her feet being tossed into the air. . . An "oomph" forced out of her lungs as she lands forcefully on his shoulder, draping clumsily over his back.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she fumes, pummeling his backside.

"Making an impression," he growls. "One you'll never forget."

The feminist in her is thoroughly offended by the move and yet, _Wow,_ he has a stupendous ass, and how does this display of Caveman tactics have her even more aroused?

He kicks open his bedroom door, locks it behind him and once he reaches the bed, tosses her unceremoniously onto the spread.

She's there before him, lying back on her elbows, like a disheveled Goddess with unruly curly hair, pink cheeks and swollen lips with the purple chiffon billowing over her legs.

"You're so exquisitely beautiful," and in a motion faster than lightning streaking across the sky, he reaches behind her back, and using his infamous Casanova skills has her zipper unzipped, fingers tripping beneath the sleeves of her gown to pull them completely off her shoulders.

His heart stops for a full beat as the fabric drops to her waist; the gorgeous temptress isn't wearing a bra, has no need for one, and her small twin peaks are displayed before him, ripe for the taking, nipples already peaking from her arousal. His eyes dip lower, over her defined six pack abs and he smiles, all cocky male ego at the scrap of black lace covering her womanhood.

He takes her in, absorbing her rare beauty, cataloguing it away for all time, that blazing blue like a tarnished flame as he studies every inch of her nakedness. There's a silent intensity about him that unnerves her until she longs to say something, but the words die in her throat.

_God dammit, the man needs to quit his hot staring and start touching_**.**

He combs through the highlighted strands of her hair that frame her flushed face. "I know what you're thinking and it's not true," he grates softly, his restraint barely holding with her nudity openly displayed before him.

"What am I thinking, Rick?"

"You're thinking that once this night is over, you can say, 'Goodbye,' walk away from me and never look back. . . But, - "

_This changes everything_**,** his eyes tell her.

"This doesn't signify the end of our story. It's only the beginning of our love story and I predict, there will be numerous chapters for many years to come."

She smiles bewitchingly, all red lips and glossy teeth while grasping the band on his boxers, pulling him towards her. "I'm thinking you should stop predicting and shut your trap. . . Use your mouth for other, delightfully dirty things."

_Ohh_**. . . ** He doesn't need to be asked twice and he certainly doesn't disappoint.

It's a raw combining of needs.

It's a flash of limbs, mouth and tongue.

Clothes fly.

Her whole body melts into his touch, humming beneath his fingertips.

He whispers words of unsurpassed beauty against her flesh, feathering stubble-burned kisses along every inch of her skin, licking and tasting, painting passion along her flesh until she thinks she'll burn alive from the anticipation alone.

She's whimpering this pitiful and so arousing sound in his ear and he's dizzy with need, his cock heavy and ready to claim her.

It's too fast and yet not fast enough. And he wants her yesterday. And tomorrow. And forever.

Now, now, now.

Instinct takes over, his desire to fill her, - to make her ache for him once she's gone, make her ache to never leave him at all.

She's begging him to just let her come and by the time the condom's in place and he's interlaced all ten fingers with hers, pressing their joined hands deep into the pillows, she's on the verge of shattering.

"One night will never be enough. Not for me, not for you," he husks and with a surge of his hips, impales her, a glide so smooth but still so tight it nearly undoes him.

"Fuck!" flies from her mouth as a strangled hiss as he buries himself to the hilt inside her.

His lips cover hers to taste the mewling sounds from her mouth and the kiss is raw, urgent, rough and she's the only thing keeping him in place as their bodies become one.

As he draws his hips away, hers follow, not allowing their connection to break.

With each and every thrust, her nails dig deep into the back of his hands, intensifying every sensation, intensifying everything about _her._

Her pupils are blown with arousal as she stares up at him. Her lip is caught again between her teeth and he doesn't think he's ever seen anything so erotic in his life, fueling the arousal rumbling through his body.

They're moving erratically, hard and slow. He slides deeper with every stroke and her loins contract with the onslaught of her release, tightening rhythmically, driving him inexorably toward his own climax.

She's writhing beneath him, crying his name softly, trying to get him deeper - still.

Rick feels his arousal deepening, tightening as those sinful legs squeeze around his.

His earthy smell captivates her senses, reduces her to a mindless mess of need, her body thrumming with desire, arousal, him.

She can't catch her breath as her imminent orgasm builds; her back arches like a bow as pure sexual energy rips through her body, - starting at her scalp, traveling through her chest, bursting to her core, overflowing along her long limbs and making her toes curl in utter desperation.

She succumbs when he tortures her with the rough timbre of his voice, "You're in my veins and no other woman will ever compare to you."

She yields to the raw passion of _him_, screams out, "Cas - sle," inner muscles clenching around his large member as bursts of fire ignite in her blood, milking from him his own release.

His palms drag away from hers and dig into her hipbones as he spills into her, pulsing hot spurts, breathing her name raggedly as he holds her down beneath him.

Afterward, they both lie still, breathing heavily, occasionally one of them shaking or trembling as their bodies come down from the overwhelming high of their union.

"Christ," he finally whispers, the word sounding as though it's torn from the depths of his soul. "That was beyond amazing. . . I don't even have the words to describe it."

"I agree," she whispers softly, looking up at him with lovely sated eyes, a sheen of sweat making her appear even more ethereal. "I had no idea it would be this - ."

She doesn't finish the sentence, just catches his mouth with her own, trying to portray with her actions how much it meant to her, because for the first time since her mother's death, Katherine Beckett feels almost whole.


	15. Chapter 15

**This is the chapter where I wish I was as gifted with writing poetic smut as Kimmiesjoy.**

**And there's a sentence in here just for you, theputz913.**

**...**

Round two has her hands fisted in the sheets as he murmurs against her navel, asking about her scintillating tattoo.

His tongue begins tracing the letters, 'Vincit Omnia Veritas,' sprawled out in calligraphy writing on her left hip, and he grins into the colored flesh as a tremor seizes her.

He's sweeping her shivers, collecting them, pressing memories of her reactions into his sex-addled brain.

"It means, 'truth conquers all'," she sighs, and her mouth sensually opens, back bowing as she realizes his intentions.

"I can't wait to explore what that means to you," he says throatily, looking every bit the juicy, egotistical womanizer the tabloids portray him to be as he settles himself between her thighs.

"Another time, Writer Man. Right now I need you to explore umm," she nibbles on her kiss-swollen lip, "other things."

"Other things? You're going to have to be more specific."

"You read my rules," she eeks out, hazel eyes intrinsically spicy from her earlier orgasm, legs falling open invitingly.

He swallows hard as _b__loody hell,_ one of his dreams is about to come true as she's beckoning him to feast on her.

"And I have to say I'm thrilled with every one of them."

"You would be," and her smile grows, reflecting illicit intent. "In your case," she purrs seductively, "those rules were meant to be broken."

"And here I am, Rule-Breaker-Extraordinaire," he taunts, oozing masculinity like it's an up and coming fashion trait. "Ask me, Kate," he half purrs, half demands.

_The man thinks he's a gifted Latin Lover_ (she will not contemplate the possibility it's a fact) _and wants her to ask, does he? Well, that's not going to happen. . . _

It doesn't matter (she tries to convince herself) he's the first man in forever who's scaled her walls, wrapped her up in a blanket of infinite desire interwoven with valor and trust.

It doesn't matter he's the first man in many years who's left an indelible impression on her heart, and the first one she'll consider relinquishing this type of control to, allowing him to perform this one, overly intimate act.

It doesn't matter that she's fantasized about him doing this very thing. . . _Nope,_ wild horses couldn't drag the information out of her, revealing it to him.

She will not ask, plead, beg or any form of the word.

_Oh dear God__,_ his lips are planting a trail up her inner thigh, - bold, risque, open-mouth kisses, - his splendid tongue darting along the sensitive flesh, drawing carnal patterns of infinite desire.

He pauses right before he reaches her center, looks up at her between the apex of her thighs, eyes as infuriatingly gorgeous blue as the stained glass windows on the Sistine chapel. She can practically feel the electrifying sizzle snap in the bedroom as their orbs war with one another, - his saying, 'You're going to have to beg', and hers saying, 'There's no way in hell'.

She smells the torrid scent of sex surrounding them, inhales his addicting testosterone which has her devastatingly heady with arousal after only twenty minutes earlier experiencing the most intense orgasm of her life.

"If you want something from me, all you have to do is ask."

The smarmy bastard blows hot air over her core, tantalizing the pink, swollen flesh, causing moisture to slick down her thighs.

"It would excite me beyond belief," and his mouth dips to her lower abdomen, nipping the waxed skin softly. "To make you come," his teeth drag down her pubic bone, causing tremors as dizzying as a minor earthquake, "with just my mouth."

_This man's seriously GOOD. He shouldn't be writing murder mysteries but self help books for men who need help learning the intricacies of a woman's body._

"Has anyone ever told you you talk too much, Mister Castle?"

His chuckle reverberates over her flesh, low and sinful and completely _him. S_he wishes she could bottle up the sound and store it, open it up on a later date to fuel her memories of this unbelievable night.

"Why, Miss Beckett, are you trying to say you're unhappy with my mouth?" He half-smiles, something downright dirty, "Because we both know I can prove otherwise."

"Knock it off, smartass, and put your mouth where it belongs," she simpers, hating how she's inflating his massive ego by finally succumbing to him.

He quirks one eyebrow, looks at her like, 'It's-about-time-you-finally-admitted-the-affect-I-have-on-you,' and asks, "Is this you, - NOT asking very loudly?"

"Take it however you want. I don't care as long as you keep up with me."

"Oh, I can keep up, all right. . . All. Night. Long."

He dives to her center, lapping his tongue against her folds.

She takes back every high and mighty adjective she's ever used to describe him and narrows it down to just one word:

_Lady-killer__,_ because there's a very good chance she just might be dead come morning.

"Fuck, Cas - sle," and her neck falls back languidly while one hand grips the headboard so tight, her knuckles turn ashen. Sighs of pleasure surround her as she crosses her ankles behind his head, bringing him closer to her core, forcing him deeper into her skin.

Her cat-like eyes squeeze shut as magnificent wave after wave of sensation washes over her, pummels through her, molten heat swimming through her veins.

She's blindfolded with laces of lust, an "Oh Gawd, ye - sss, just like that," being ripped from her without a strain of thought.

She's the flame and he's the oxygen, her raw need the fuel, waiting for ignition as he breathes pure blissful life into her loins, stoking her higher and higher until inevitably she'll soar and burn. . . Burn completely out of control like a wildfire raging free on a dry hillside.

Her taste is embedded in his senses, - delicious, familiar at the same time foreign, an affirmation of them belonging to one another.

"Don't. Ever. Stop," she commands and his tongue doubles its intensity, slicing through her wet folds over and over again, slamming into her sugar walls, his hands rousing and clenching and grabbing, his teeth dragging at the little nub causing her to buck up into his mouth.

Her fingers fist within the thick strands of his hair, pulling on them with the identical force he's pulling on her.

Rick spans his hands against her pelvis, circles his thumb against her clit, starting clockwise, over and over again, drawing moisture across her folds, drawing a salacious moan from her lips.

Her nub is swollen and pulsing and he can practically hear her thoughts of, "I'm never going to live this down as Richard Edgar Castle is between my legs and screwing me with his tongue."

His sensuous tongue cuts at the edge of her Diamond persona, tempering and polishing the imperfect woman from the inside out.

He can hear that she's close, - intimate, mewling sounds float his way and then her eyes fly open, lock onto his and she cries out her release, breathy with musical undertones, a sound he wants to hear time and time again.

His Lothario-pride soars as it lasts longer than he would have expected; her heavenly reaction heightening his own libido, making the blood pulse whirlpool fast to his cock, making him unbearably hard.

He pins her bucking hips, slows down his tongue, breaths over her labia, helping to bring her back down from the extreme high.

Before he can think about anything but her intoxicating musky scent, she's suddenly hauling him towards her, strong hands grasped beneath his armpits, pulling him desperately, needing to feel his muscular body above her, below her, all around her.

"You're so incredible at this," she grates and then her teeth bite at his lips, - savage, animalistic, a siren smile gleaning across her face as she tastes a hint of copper mixed with the sweet, tangy flavor of her own orgasm.

An edgy moan escapes him as she works her way up the tendons of his shoulder, nips a path across his collar bone, finally ending at his throat where she performs a sexy ninja move leaving him breathless and flat on his back.

"Damn Kate," he growls but she silences his protests with a scrape of teeth and hot slide of tongue.

"It's my turn to keep my earlier promise and fuck you senseless."

She kisses up and down his jaw, sucks on his chin before taking his mouth again, tongue bumping his lips erotically.

He tilts his head to grant her better access, allowing her deeper inside his mouth, making him feel as hot as she is desperate.

Venturing hands skim over sensitive, newly chartered spots.

She's straddling his abdomen, hips moving in a slow sensuous rhythm, smearing her wetness all over him.

"Promise me you'll be here when I wake up in the morning."

The moonlight shining through the open blinds creates shards of magical light across his defined torso, and she doesn't think she's ever seen a more beautiful male specimen in her life, wishes she had the courage to stay with him for the next few days, explore this unprecedented, amazing connection she's never felt with a man before, but . . .

She stops her movements, looks directly into his baby blues and says with a touch of shyness, "FOR YOU, I'll try."

Her answer swarms his senses, infiltrates his mind, body and soul, and it's not nearly enough, but enough for right now.

His lips mold onto hers, hoping to convince her with every press of his lips, swipe of his tongue, every breath they share, to give this once-in-a-lifetime relationship, _give_ _them,_ a chance.

She changes the tune with a devilish swirl of her tongue, makes it known with an alluring glide of her hips who's in charge right now and what she wants.

Teeth bite, tongues battle, waging a war where neither considers surrender but surges onward, forward, - to reach the heavenly, climatic goal where two bodies meld as one.

His fingers are in her mouth and she's sucking on them suggestively, rolling her lips over them, mimicking how her lower half aches to take him.

She's everywhere, those mesmerizing eyes roving over every millimeter of his skin, her athletic legs squeezing and shimmying, fingers running hotly over pebbled flesh.

A bolt of lightning surges through his body and the next moment his hands are digging into her hip bones, lifting her up and slamming her down on his cock, the sweet snugness of her walls making him groan in anguish.

Collision.

Collaboration.

Combustion.

Their limbs are rigid, and with each slide they mold further into each other, their bodies bound to one another by ever tightening chains of lust.

He withdraws and pushes, at the same moment she lifts and slides, his large shaft stretching her to the hilt.

Kate feels coiled, blindsided by his intensity, the pulls and pushes of desire combined with something infinitely more meaningful.

Her hair is tangled in his hands, broad fingers roving over her scalp, adding to the pile of sensations.

Erotic sounds fill the room that could belong to either or both of them.

She's sliding down his shaft, tilting her hips, taking him completely inside her, and then grinding down, driving them both to the edge of oblivion.

She springs herself towards him at the exact moment she starts to drift away, blood pulsating in heavy bursts to her core.

All it takes is his large hand claiming her breast and with one flick of her nipple she's flying, catapulting over the cliff of ecstasy, dragging him with her with a long press of her hips, sugar walls gripping, tightening, pulsing.

His hands clamp onto her pelvis to soften the surge through him as hot spurts of semen shoot into her velvety depths.

She feels the heat of his seed and it drives her to even higher levels, decimating her capacity to think, to even breathe. . . She collapses on top of him, lips sinking into the hollow of his throat, her ragged breaths heightening the lingering after-shocks traveling through his broad frame.

...

Afterwards, he wraps his long arms around her, cradling her to him as sleep beckons to his heavy eyelids.

"I want to learn everything about you," he whispers. "Your likes and dislikes, your childhood, your upbringing, those wild-child teenage years, your parents. . . By the way," he teases, "are there any sisters running around wreaking havoc on the male population of New York?"

He doesn't sense her withdrawal as she links their fingers together and places a kiss to his wrist. "No sisters. I'm an only child."

"That's a good thing," he chuckles, "because two of you could decimate the male population in less than a month."

"My only goal right now is to decimate a certain author who deserves every brilliant, raunchy title the tabloids have labeled him with."

"Mmm, you've already accomplished your goal then."

"There's so much more where that came from."

"There'd better be, as I already know," and his lips find the crook of her neck, languidly sliding across the creamy skin, "I'll never get enough of you, Katherine Beckett."

He falls asleep for the first time since his divorce with the hope that he's met his missing half, the one woman who will see past his fame and fortune and all his bullshit and just accept him for who he truly is, faults and all.

He berates himself in the morning for being such a heavy sleeper, berates the writer in him for believing in the impossible, because he wakes to a cold bed, - the scent of ripe cherries with a touch of musk emblazoned in his sheets.

He sees the note on the pillow next to him, picks it up with shaky fingers, almost afraid to read the elegant script.

**I'll never forget you.**

**Thank you for the most extraordinary night of my life.**

**You own a piece of my heart,**

**Kate**

He scrunches up the note and tosses it angrily into the nearby trash, - his body spent, his eyes lifeless. . . Because the irresistible, beautifully damaged woman whose heart is encased in ice and whose soul is locked away behind cement walls has officially written him out of her life.

For good.


	16. Chapter 16

**The morning after, Kate's POV**

**...**

She wakes up in his arms.

For the first time in months, Kate wakes rested, at peace, a feeling of warmth enveloping her.

She's on her side, facing him, head lying on his massive arm, his other arm thrown protectively over her, keeping her snug against him.

The sun is just starting to light the eastern sky and as the reddish-gold rays sneak through the blinds, she marvels at the man beside her, the angular bone structure, the stalwart nose, his large, soft-as-satin lips. His face is relaxed, free of worry or age lines, chin dotted with fresh stubble, caramel colored strands of hair sticking up in disarray, making him look younger than his 41 years.

He's a heavy sleeper, long lashes (which she'll happily tease him are pretty enough to be any woman's) lie immobile on his cheeks, his rib cage rising with each and every heavy breath.

_Oh Gawd, I could grow to love this, waking up to him. It feels so damn . . . right._

Memories of last night flood over her: his eyes piercing every pore of her flesh, looking at her as if she was the most exquisite creature on earth, displaying a rare reverence for her beauty as well as a restrained passion she'd never felt from a man before. He was the most unselfish lover she'd ever been with, his needs pushed aside as he concentrated solely on her, making her feel like her body was a blank artist's canvas. . . He the skilled painter, his tongue sliding across fevered skin, fingers moving and stroking, delving into every crevice and corner, - creating a beautiful, stunning painting of desire, one where two bodies won't survive without becoming one.

He certainly hadn't misled her, because what happened last night wasn't just for the sake of sex, to cave into their profound appetites to fill both their baser needs. . . He didn't just fuck Diamond, but the famous mystery novelist had actually made love to her, Katherine Beckett, proven with his sensual and soulful words and sinful hands just how much she means to him.

Moisture, thick with him, curls between her legs and makes her ache to wake him up by sprinkling kisses along his jaw before just owning that mouth of his, convincing him with a heavy press of her limbs just how anxious she is for round number . . .

_Holy shit__, s_he quickly reviews in her mind both times they had sex, and if she was uncertain before about the author, she certainly knows now he's a force to be reckoned with because she'd been so caught up in insatiable lust and electrifying desire that she'd broken one of her most sacred rules.

He didn't wear a condom the second time.

She's extremely careful with her job, intelligent about her decisions and doesn't take any unnecessary risks with her johns, making sure a condom is always in play.

She's faithful about being tested three times a year for sexually-transmitted-diseases. In fact, she just got her test results back last week so knows she's clean.

She fully trusts Rick as well to have used protection in the past for his one night stands so isn't concerned about an STD, but she is blown away with the knowledge that he trusted her enough not to wear a condom and scared shitless by what it means. . .

The man, pure and simple, has marked her as his.

He's let her know through overt teasing, subtle eloquence, romantic gestures and hot-as-the-fiery-pits-of-hell passion, that she's his future.

And her heart sinks with the underlying knowledge she's just not worthy to be anyone's future. . . Let alone a superb man with a heart-of-gold whose eyes could melt an iceberg and whose hands can bring unknown pleasures to a woman's willing body.

If she keeps seeing him, she's deathly afraid that soon, she won't be able to envision her own future without him a part of it, - a man whose boyish hero complex has slipped under her skin, whose gentlemanly nature has touched her soul and whose unearthly allure is now ingrained on her flesh.

She has to end this now before her heart, body and soul are so intermeshed with his that she doesn't know where one leaves off and the other begins.

She has to end this now before her baggage insinuates into his well being, - threading indignation, depression and vengeance throughout, those acidic qualities which will slowly eat away at him and fuck up his beautiful life.

He deserves someone who isn't floundering, who isn't broken.

She carefully removes his arm from around her body and gently sits up, scooting quietly to the edge of the bed.

He stirs, mumbling something incoherent and then flops flat on his back. She hurries to pick up her discarded clothing, the purple gown, the ruined black lace panties.

She's never met a man before who has the ability to make her soaking wet with just one blazing look from his penetrating eyes.

She heads into the restroom and takes a quick glance at herself in the mirror, - the flyaway, I-just-had-amazing-torrid-sex hair, the swollen lips testifying to her night of carnal ecstasy and, - she pauses, as she doesn't recognize the sublime bliss shining from her eyes.

_What has he done to me?_

She quickly dresses, thinking of nothing more than getting out of his bedroom and trying to start the difficult healing process of putting him behind her, but when she catches his striking naked torso out of the corner of her eye, remembers how he begged her to promise him she'd be here in the morning, - her heart stops, squeezes with the knowledge she's going to hurt him terribly, - possibly irreparably.

She can't leave him empty handed, waking up alone in a cold bed without some sort of explanation, some token of how meaningful the night was to her. She has to give him something to remember her by and it has to be sincere, significant.

She pulls out a pen from her clutch and reaches for a piece of paper on his dresser.

She pushes aside the thought, _he doesn't want your words, Kate, only you__,_ and pauses when the pen hits the paper.

This isn't her forte; writing is definitely not her strong suit and it's extremely difficult to put into words what this night held for her.

She wars with herself, - leery about exposing her true feelings and leaving her open, vulnerable. . . She finally decides he deserves nothing less from her than the truth.

In elegant script, she writes:

**I'll never forget you.**

**Thank you for the most extraordinary night of my life.**

**You own a piece of my heart,**

**Kate**

She places the note on the pillow next to him and pulls out her I-phone, quickly taking a snapshot of him, gorgeous bare chest, adorable messy hair and eyelashes as downy soft as a baby's.

At the last possible moment, she decides to pull off her panties and tuck them beneath his pillow, a raunchy souvenir she hopes he'll appreciate and eventually treasure. With one last look on his sleeping form she quietly opens his bedroom door and closes it behind her.

She's tiptoeing through the loft, looking for her favorite heels when a voice, matronly in nature, startles her.

"Are you doing the walk of shame this morning, my dear?"

Kate drops the clutch and it clatters to the floor, ruby-red lip gloss sliding across the hard wood, as her eyes land on blue orbs very similar to Rick's. She's at a loss for words as Rick's mother looks at her curiously, a smile with epic Broadway flair gleaning across her lips.

"I'm sorry for startling you. I certainly didn't mean to. Here, let me help," she says and the next instant she's on her haunches, gracefully picking up the gloss and handing it back to her.

"I'm Martha Rodgers, Rick's mother," she says and holds out her hand in greeting.

"Kate Beckett," she replies and takes the older woman's hand in hers, surprised by her firm, yet lissome handshake. "It's nice to meet you."

"Same to you," she looks over at the kitchen island where an array of fruits and veggies lie. "I'm just blending up my usual nutritious breakfast smoothie of kale, carrots, blueberries and cranberries. Come and join me as I'd love the company."

"Oh, thank you, but I can't." Kate looks away, unable to hold the older woman's keen gaze. "I'm on a tight schedule and have some things I need to do this morning."

"My rambunctious, full-of-himself-son scare you off, did he?" and her directness brings a smile to Kate's lips.

"Something like that. He's the most umm. . . " What can she honestly say about him? . . . He's the most intense, incredible lover she's ever had, the most unforgettable, the most satisfying? . . . _Yeah,_ not anything she can reveal to his Mom.

Kate's cheeks blush a bright pink as she flounders for an answer. She fiddles with her clutch, finally settling on, "He's the most forthright person I've ever met."

A burst of laughter fills the air as Martha revels in her embarrassment. "'Forthright' being an understatement, and don't worry, Kate, I won't pry further information from you."

"Thank you as I don't think," she chuckles, instantly liking the flamboyant older woman, immediately sensing how much her son means to her. "I can handle further humiliation right now. . . Have you by chance seen my other Louboutin pump?" She holds up the black suede shoe with tiny decorative crystals.

"Ah, a woman after my own tastes. Those are extremely expensive, lovely shoes. And yes, it's over near the sofa." By the humorous tone in her voice, Kate knows she's assuming clothes went flying before they even made it into the bedroom, when in fact, only her shoes fell off when he slung her over his shoulder like a caveman kidnapping his woman.

_Mmm, and what a yummy caveman he was._

"It's been ages since Rick brought a woman home so come sit at the kitchen bar and chat with me."

_It's been ages? What the hell?_

_"_Are you always this courteous to the women Rick brings back to the loft?"

"I hope so, but I honestly don't remember the last time it happened. . . Let me think," and she purses her lips while ticking off her fingers. One, two, three, four. "It's been four years since he's entertained a woman here."

She's grateful she didn't take Martha up on her offer to have a smoothie because if she'd been holding a drink in her hand, it would've slipped right through her fingers.

She's completely stunned, mouth falling open, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

"Four years?" she gasps, "How is that even possible with his looks and devilish charm and, - " she can't believe she's actually discussing this with his mother. . . "bad-boy reputation?"

"I see you're not unaffected by him," Martha teases and then her eyes light up like her greatest pastime is talking about her son. . . "He's certainly dashing, isn't he? And I do take all the credit for his beautiful eyes and unblemished skin but that crooked nose and cocky nature are strictly his father."

Kate can't help chuckling, "Good to know."

"As to the latter, the tabloids exaggerate quite a bit his Playboy persona. His number one priority over the years has always been raising Alexis, and not bedding every floozy fan who asked him to sign her chest. Was he a saint? Of course not, but on the whole, my boy deserves way more credit for being a fantastic father than he does for being a ladies-man." Martha continues softly, "he's always had a special bond with Alexis that I envy. He is the greatest example I know of being a true, loving, devoted parent."

She didn't need to have Rick's mother confirm what she already felt. . . Rick Castle was the entire package, a great man among men, a brilliant writer, a doting son, a dedicated father, an unselfish lover, a gentleman in every sense of the word.

She didn't think it was possible, but having her impressions about the man solidified into truth, made him even more desirable in her eyes, and made it (achingly so) that much more difficult to say, "Goodbye."

_God__,_ how she wished she weren't so burdened, so damaged, so calloused.

How she wished she could just throw caution to the wind, drop everything and embark on a journey with him; one she knows deep in her soul would be the journey of a lifetime.

Tears glisten in her eyes as she pictures Rick's and Alexis' binding relationship. . . She knows without a doubt he was careful during her impressionable teenage years, choosing not to bring home a one night stand, not allowing anyone to meet his daughter who wouldn't have her best interests at heart.

It would be amazing to have that type of relationship with her own Dad, but after her mother's death, instead of becoming closer to her father like she anticipated, his alcoholism had consumed him and put a rift between them that to this day, still hadn't been bridged.

"I certainly don't know you, Kate, but I do know my son. He wouldn't have welcomed you into our home unless he cared about you. It means you're special in his eyes, and so, by association, special in my eyes too."

_Ohh__,_ this Rodger clan and their way with words, making her feel accepted and appreciated. . . She doesn't want to feel a connection to his mother as well, this is already difficult enough.

"Thank you, Martha. You did a wonderful job raising him all on your own."

"I'm extremely proud of my son, but I can't take the credit. I wasn't around enough to be that influential on him. It was all him."

"Don't sell yourself short," Kate says sincerely. "Mothers have a way of entwining themselves in their children's lives. My mother had a profound influence on me, so I'm sure you did on him as well."

Martha absorbs the sheen in Kate's eyes and wonders about her past, the difficulties she's faced and why sadness reigns in her soul.

"Forgive me as I'm probably out of line, but don't let that son of mine slip through your fingers. I have a feeling you're the one woman who can tame his unruly side, make him trust again, believe once more in relationships."

Martha's words stir something deep inside her, make her want to reassure the woman just how much her son means to her.

"Will you give him a message for me?"

"Sure, but I'm positive he'd prefer it if you told him yourself."

"Please tell him," and she hurriedly slips on her shoes, "I'll never regret last night. . . Tell him," and her throat closes over with emotion, "he deserves someone better."


	17. Chapter 17

**He berates himself in the morning for being such a heavy sleeper, berates the writer in him for believing in the impossible, because he wakes to a cold bed, - the scent of ripe cherries with a touch of musk emblazoned in his sheets.**

**He sees the note on the pillow next to him, picks it up with shaky fingers, almost afraid to read the elegant script.**

**I'll never forget you.**

**Thank you for the most extraordinary night of my life.**

**You own a piece of my heart,**

**Kate**

**He scrunches up the note and tosses it angrily into the nearby trash, - his body spent, his eyes lifeless. . . Because the irresistible, beautifully damaged woman whose heart is encased in ice and whose soul is locked away behind cement walls has officially written him out of her life.**

**For good.**

**...**

He doesn't believe a word of her note, feels like it was her way of letting him down gently.

_Add manipulative liar to her list of seductive attributes,_ he thinks painfully, shoving aside the thought that he knows, deep down, she felt something for him during their intense, remarkable night together. No one was that great of an actress.

_But it wasn't enough. You're not enough._

He's up and out of the bed, pulling the sheets off roughly, determined to immediately wash them and get her lingering scent out of his senses. His pillow gets tossed from the bed and Jesus Christ, there lie her all-lace black panties, tempting him with their delicate femininity, bringing back scandalous memories of the night before... Endless legs, pert breasts, waxed pelvis, sensual, needy sighs.

He doesn't touch her lingerie with his hands, just balls them up with his navy sheets. He takes the sheets and the pillow cases into the laundry room and puts them inside the washing machine and starts the gentle cycle.

He rushes to the master bath, not even glancing at the bed and groans when he smells her in his bathroom. She must have recently left.

He turns the shower onto scalding hot and waits 30 seconds for the water to heat before stepping into the stall.

The heat actually soothes his frayed nerves; he can feel the pores on his back opening, turning the flesh a bright shade of pink as it pummels the sensitive skin, burning his back as he hopes to burn her out of his system.

He scrubs every centimeter of flesh he can reach, using his Brut-scented gel, not wanting any remembrance of her deft fingertips or the slide of her slick tongue hanging subtly on his skin.

He honestly doesn't know how long he's been under the water but by the time it starts cooling he shuts it off and grabs a towel, rubbing his body vigorously.

God damn her for making him believe the third time's the charm. He's through with drop-dead-gorgeous-man-eaters with bodies made for sin and the sexual appeal of Jezebel. He's through with the opposite sex in general.

He dresses casually in khakis and a T-shirt and heads out into the kitchen to start his coffee-maker. As he puts the coffee beans in the machine his cell phone rings.

"Hello," he says, not immediately recognizing the number.

"Mister Castle, this is Ayra at Forever Flowers. We had three of your bouquets returned to us this morning. Would you like us to resend them to a different address?"

Uggh yeah, the flower bouquets he had sent to 5 star hotels all over the city in hopes they would find Diamond.

"Can you remove the cards and have the arrangements delivered to The Village Rest Home in Manhattan?"

"Sure. There would be another $15.00 delivery charge though. Would you like me to charge the card we have on file?"

"Go ahead, that's fine. Add a $15.00 tip for yourself as well."

"Thank you. I appreciate your generosity... I have to say, I'm sorry for Diamond that she didn't receive them. You have impeccable taste."

"Thanks but unfortunately, I think she's grateful she didn't get them. Have a nice day, Ayra," and with that, he pushes the release button on his phone to end the conversation.

Martha strolls down the stairs and with the flair of a woman entering on stage says, "Dar - ling, any particular reason you're up so late this morning?"

By the tone of her voice, he knows she suspects he was entertaining a woman. "If you're asking me if I had a torrid night out on the town, then no, Mother, I didn't."

With twinkling eyes, a shade identical to his own, she asks, "No, I wasn't asking that, just inquiring about the torrid night you had here at home."

_Damn_, he doesn't need this right now. He loves his mom with all his heart but her prying into his love life just might be the catalyst to send him over the edge.

_What love life?_ his inner dialogue mocks him. _You can chalk Kate up to just another one night stand_.

"It was nothing, Mother. Nothing more than a good time between, umm, _consenting_ adults." He sneered the word, 'consenting,' before continuing with a bad-boy smirk, "Something you're very well acquainted with."

Her eyes narrow in on her son, the stiff shoulders, the blasé attitude, - knowing undoubtedly, Katherine Beckett has hurt him.

"I can guarantee it was **not** nothing to Kate, dear. That woman has some deep-rooted feelings for you and feelings, I believe, she's scared to acknowledge even to herself."

Martha chuckles at Rick's dumbfounded surprise.

"You shouldn't be so surprised. You've always had a way with the ladies, son, and this particular one has fallen hook, line and sinker for you. I suspect, though," she says teasingly with an air of, 'you-always-were-too-charming-for-your-own-good, "that she didn't see you coming from a hundred yards away, and you are the last thing she wants, or thinks she needs, in her life right now."

"You met Kate?" he asks incredulously and with his mother's growing grin, hurries on, "Please tell me you didn't hound her for details about her life."

"Of course I didn't. It was a lovely chat between two women who have _you_ in common."

He chuckles, "Mmm, why don't I believe you?"

Martha chuckles, "Because your career makes you a suspicious man by heart." Her eyes hone in on her son lovingly and she continues, "She's stunningly attractive with an aura of a 'lost little girl' that draws you in."

"You don't know the half of it, Mother."

"Why don't you enlighten me? I'd love to learn more about the woman who has my son tied up in knots."

"Honestly, there's not much to say," he pulls out of the cupboard a mixing bowl and then some eggs out of the refrigerator, breaking them into the bowl. "I interviewed her for my new novel and I'm grateful I did, because she gave me insight into my Nikki Heat character that would otherwise be lacking, but aside from that - ,"

"Aside from a momentous evening with her? " Martha interrupts slyly, "One I believe you'll both never forget?"

He refuses to acknowledge his mother's attempts to draw more information from him, and even though it wrenches his heart to say the words aloud, he grates, "Drop it, mother. Whatever may have been between us is over. She made it perfectly clear she doesn't want to see me again."

"God, I thought you knew more about women than the average man. Don't you know how to read between the lines? Because I'd be willing to bet your next book sales that Kate doesn't want you to give up on her. . . And I know you, Richard, there's so much more going on between you two, but there's obviously something getting in the way. And if she felt there was a way past it, I believe she'd be here right now."

Rick eyes his mother calculatingly, blue eyes alight with confusion, tinged with determination. "What exactly did she say to you?"

She watches him whisk away at the eggs with a fork, hand whipping in a circular motion while he tries to nonchalantly convey disinterest in their conversation, but she can sense the subtle shift in his energy, knows he's waiting with bated breath for her answer... She smiles thankfully as deep down, she'd always worried his two messy divorces would leave a permanent scar on his life, make him unwilling to risk opening his heart again, consider giving up on love entirely, - and now, _finally_, a beautiful woman with sadness etched into her soul, has walked into her son's life and made him _feel_ again.

"She said some things that made it perfectly clear she has strong feelings for you, but I got the impression, right now isn't the best time in her life to begin a relationship."

"Quit putting your own spin on things and tell me exactly what she said, please," he asks with exasperation, laced with humor.

"She asked me to give you a message," and as per usual, his mother pauses for dramatic flair.

"Go on."

"She asked me to tell you she'd never regret last night and - ," walking around the kitchen island she swipes her hand down her son's arm, eyes linking with his, "she believes you deserve someone better."

**...**

Captain Montgomery had texted her an hour ago to meet him in his office, and she's keeping her fingers crossed he finally has a solid lead in her mother's case, but as she sits across from him, looking directly in his eyes, she knows it's something different, something she may not quite like.

"Beckett, the Mayor's asked me to handle this one personally and you're my best informant in this line of work. This Friday night, at the Rockefeller Center, there's going to be a charity function for the new children's wing of the New York - Presbyterian hospital."

_Ohh, just another job_**.** A pang of concern engulfs her that Montgomery might be stalling her mother's case just to keep her indebted to him, but she pushes the notion aside; the man is a good friend, a revered colleague, the only person who still believes in her to this day after failing the academy.

And seriously, who fuckin' passes first in her class, aceing every written test, physically outshining men on the obstacle course and able to hold her own on the track and in the sparring ring, and then fails the psychiatric test?

_Well obviously,_ she thinks sarcastically, _a young woman whose only obsession back then was finding her mother's killer._

The psychiatrist who interviewed her, an-up-and-coming-Doctor-Phil-wanna-be was unemotional, clinical, detached. He couldn't see beyond the application questions to her soul beneath.

Doctor Hilliard's analysis stamped on her Academy file still haunts her to this day and is something she can recite from memory: 'I firmly believe Katherine Beckett's obsession with finding her mother's killer will interfere in every aspect of her duties as a police officer and will undoubtedly, hinder her judgment. Her desire for vengeance outweighs her desire for justice and I cannot in good conscience recommend she graduate from the Academy.'

What a pompous jackass that he couldn't see her own experience would fill her with compassion for other victim's families; that working with bereaved loved ones and knowing she'd helped others find closure even when she couldn't find any in her own life, might just bring her some sense of fulfillment and peace.

She'd met Roy Montgomery at the Academy. He'd been a substitute instructor one day and had taken her under his wing, gone to bat for her, recommend she graduate with flying colors, but the higher ups were too afraid she might become (quote, unquote) "trigger happy" when she attempted to arrest a suspected murderer and then the city would face a lawsuit they just couldn't deal with or more likely afford.

And so her failure at the Academy left a hole in her heart that many years later led her down a treacherous path she never expected to find herself on, - one dotted with highs and lows, precarious turns, situations fraught with danger for a woman named Diamond... Her persona who was slowly and effectively consuming the real Katherine Beckett, until a famous author with a rare talent for reading people barged into her life and made her see inside her true self and long just to be Katherine Houghton Beckett again.

Castle ... He sure pegged her correctly when he said, "Even though you're an expert at controlling men, relishing in the power you have over them, it's all a ruse to protect your heart."

Castle ... The one man who saw through her jaded, sex-symbol persona to the lost woman beneath, making her bask in the belief she could be whole once more with him at her side, being her stalwart, faithful guide.

A man she's certainly not worthy of having in any aspect of her life.

The Captain's, "Beckett?" brought her back from her reverie.

"Sorry Sir, what did you say?"

"I was wondering if you've heard about the serial killer the media's dubbed, 'Doctor Merciful Death'?"

"Yes, he's a Physician who's putting terminally ill children out of their misery."

"Correct, and the parents of these kids aren't willing to give us any information as to the man who's helping them. They see him as a 'God', some 'Savior among men,' who's easing the horrific pain of their offspring, but now after three deaths in the past year, the Mayor wants to make this case our top priority. He wants this man behind bars."

"How can I help?"

"We've recently come across a solid lead where a new nurse at Cohen's Children's Medical Center saw the back of a Doctor leave a child's room just before the little girl passed away. We've had her look at hundreds of videos and have narrowed down a suspect, a Doctor Joshua Davidson."

"So I take it this Doctor is a lady's man and you want me to use my womanly wiles on him?" she asks with a teasing smile.

"Yes, at the hospital benefit, there will be an auction of eligible, good looking bachelors, a few police officers, firemen, doctors, etcetera. We've lucked out as he's one of the men who volunteered for the cause. We need you to bid on him and make sure you win the date."

"This sounds like it could become a messy, complicated job which could take weeks to complete. It might even be months before I could establish a strong enough relationship with him, build up his trust to where he eventually feels comfortable enough to open up to me and possibly confess something."

"Yes, this won't be your usual two or three night 'sting operation'. I have a feeling this man will be careful about what he reveals, but you'll be inside his home and able to snoop around. Hopefully you'll find incriminating evidence pretty quickly. . . Are you alright though if it turns into a long-term assignment?"

At her hesitation, Montgomery quickly resumes, "You're the only one I fully trust to get the dirt on this guy, but if you're not up to doing this job, I can certainly look into another C.I. You're definitely his type though, Beckett; he prefers long-legged brunettes."

She ponders it for a moment, knowing Esposito won't be around and have her back on this one, but she grudgingly agrees. . . On the sole basis that trying to establish a relationship with another man, albeit a false one, will help her to get past a certain 6 foot author who has a gentle soul, a rapier wit and to-die-for-hands.

_Oh Gawd, his hands._

Just thinking about his hands cascading over her abs, circling her belly button, mapping out her pubic bone and finally settling on her thighs, pressing them open wide for him, has liquid warmth pooling to her loins.

"The city will reimburse you however much money you end up spending on Doctor Davidson." He pulls out an invitation out of his top desk drawer and holds it out to her. "Here's your ticket to get into the function this Friday night."

"Got it, Sir," and she takes it from his outstretched hand.

"Thank you, Beckett. You're an invaluable resource to this department."

As she walks out his office doors, sees the murder board with officers surrounding it, she wonders just how invaluable she might have truly been if her career had led her down the path to becoming Detective Kate Beckett, - instead of Diamond, the woman with a heart almost as hard as her name.


	18. Chapter 18

His mother actually did something he didn't think possible, he was starting to see Kate's viewpoint through her eyes.

Her women's intuition could very well be spot on about Katherine, that she has deep-rooted feelings for him, but whatever tragedy or trial is consuming her soul, interlaced with underlying fear, prevents her from feeling worthy of him.

And Gawd, he doesn't know what to do about it.

He put his heart on the line, asked her to stay the whole night with him; hell, even embarrassed himself by spouting off some poetry drivel of desire and devotion and she still chose to leave him.

He feels pathetic, lost to a woman who makes a professional living out of dating and fucking other men and yet, at the same time, he's on the verge of falling in love with the shattered woman beneath the glamorous Escort façade.

And her note was unmistakably 'goodbye'.

He pulls it out of the trash, smoothes out the paper as he glances over the words once more:

**I'll never forget you.**

**Thank you for the most extraordinary night of my life.**

**You own a piece of my heart.**

**Kate**

His gut churns in agony. How can he be positive she actually meant what she wrote? It could easily be her way of trying to lessen his pain, or her own guilt for that matter, or it could simply be she's trying to placate him.

He thinks about her leaving her panties behind, its significance, a momento to remember her by. His heart screams at him, _it's for the sole purpose she doesn't want you forgetting any second of your night together._

As if he could, - a body that would give Bar Refaeli a run for her money, ballerina legs, lithe toned back, perfect muscular ass, six-pack abs and breasts that fit like they belong in his large hands.

As if he could ever forget her; the woman had insinuated herself into every fiber of his being and it would take years of emptiness and loneliness to try and move on.

As he looks at her handwriting once more, it's not the message she wrote that has his pulse quickening in hope, - it's the simple, meaningful gesture of signing it with her first name.

She could've left the note unsigned or with just her initials, she could've signed it as 'Diamond', or even just 'Beckett', but she chose the natural form of Katherine, and that one little gesture, in and of itself, means something special to her, - the woman hiding behind Diamond.

It inspires him to believe she just might be as affected by him as he is by her.

Dammit, he can't give up on the possibility of _them, - _at least, not quite yet_. _He's going to have to pull out every trick in his Casanova book and try one last time to reach her.

An idea suddenly strikes him and before he can rethink it, he's sitting at his computer desk and googling, 'aerial advertising NYC'. He briefly scans through the links and chooses a local company. He picks up his cell phone and dials the number.

"Hello, I'd like to have a personal banner flown around the Manhattan area this weekend and if it's possible, particularly focusing on Central Park."

After setting up the details, keeping his fingers crossed that Kate, or someone close to her, will see his message, he scrolls through his contact list on his phone and hits the button to call a specific Agency.

If he's going to expose himself to the possibility of devastating rejection once more, he needs to know who he's doing it for.

"Could this possibly be thee Richard Castle?" a familiar voice on the opposite end of the line chuckles. "What did I do to deserve a call from the great mystery author?"

"Hello, Chad, and how is the best Private Investigator in Manhattan doing?"

"Try the best in the entire state according to Crain's New York business magazine."

"Yeah, I know. I happen to be one of their top sponsors."

"I knew you had a hand in it, Rick. Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Your work speaks for itself. Which brings me to the reason for my call... I want to hire you."

"What's **_her _**name?" his college buddy teases him.

"What makes you think I want you to investigate a woman?"

"Because only a woman could hold this type of power over you, enticing you to learn more about her."

Rick chuckles, "You know me too well."

"Well enough."

"Her name is Katherine Beckett and she goes by Kate. I do know her first name starts with a 'K' but I don't know if it ends in 'ine' or 'yn'. She's around thirty years old, born and raised in Manhattan and attended Stuyvesant High School. Something happened in her life twelve years ago that changed her. I believe she suffered a deep tragedy, and one which I wouldn't be surprised to learn made headline news."

"What about her physical appearance?"

"She's a beautiful brunette, 5'9 or 5'10, green eyes, around 125 pounds, size 4. Hopefully that's enough information to get started with as I don't have much more on her."

"It's plenty. I've certainly done background checks with less."

"I can't express enough how important it is for you to be discreet. She cannot find out I initiated this investigation."

"Got it. I'll handle this personally and won't even utilize my employees. Rest assured Rick, she won't find out from me."

"Thank you, and there's a $5,000.00 bonus in it for you if I have the results by the end of this week."

"Consider it done."

* * *

Her invitation states if you're planning on bidding in the auction to come early so you have a chance to meet the eligible candidates beforehand.

Captain Montgomery had suggested arriving 30 minutes early to give her a chance to meet Doctor Davidson and make an impression on him. As she walks through the Rockefeller Center doors, she's surprised by the large crowd already present.

_It's wonderful to see so many people here supporting the children's hospital; or more likely,_ she thinks humorously, _the women are here on the prowl for a wealthy husband_.

The hostess greets her with a smile and hands her a program. "Here's an agenda of the event tonight. It also includes a brief synopsis of the men who are up for auction. The bachelor's are standing in line along the far wall in alphabetical order. You're sure welcome to introduce yourself to any or all of them. Enjoy your evening."

"Thank you. I will."

Kate quickly scans through the program. There's a former FBI agent named Gordon Aaron; A retired police chief, Victor Abay, a hottie fireman, Justin Beacham, and an author…

_Holy Shit!_ Her steps falter as Richard Castle's name jumps off the card, his blue eyes as penetratingly gorgeous on the photo as they are in person.

_And of course_, (damn happenstance) _Doctor Joshua Davidson is in line right next to him._

Thank God there are several women ahead of her. She finds a fairly secluded spot behind an Asian plant and hones in on the author in question.

_S_he rolls her eyes dramatically as he has identical twins standing in front of him, blond with pixie haircuts, petite, with enormous fake boobs and matching fake eyelashes.

As she watches the two sisters, obviously attracted to him, one reaches out and grabs his bicep, hands roaming over the muscle, while the other slings her hand around his neck, pulling him towards her, planting a kiss on his cheek.

The little green monster rears its ugly head and starts worming its way through the soles of her feet, up along her calves, swirling over her thighs, across her abdomen and slinks further up where it takes hold of her chest and bites painfully into her heart.

She can hear his racy laughter from 20 yards away, and as her eyes glare daggers at the blond hussies, she can practically hear them outrageously flirting with him… Barbie and Bambi, she's dubbed them, the gussied-up bimbettes.

"Oh, Ricky, you look so handsome in a monkey suit."

"You're way more good-looking in person than in your photo."

"There's no possible way you have a teenage daughter. You look way too young."

"God, you're so much more muscular than I ever imagined."

"You know, we do _everything_ together. We're a package deal. How would you like to un-wrap us later on tonight?"

There's no way she's letting _her man_ be bought by these horny, identical sisters who are probably playing a twisted sex game, counting how many celebrities they can fuck together before they turn thirty.

She pulls out her disposable phone and nibbles on her lower lip anxiously while she waits for the line to be picked up.

"Gi - rl," the African-American voice drawls, drawing an immediate smile from Kate. "This better be important as I'm trying to finish up paperwork on my last autopsy and get the hell outta here so I can start my weekend."

"Lanie, thank goodness you picked up. I'm in a terrible jam and need your help."

"Oh no, you don't. The last time you asked for my help I ended up in a fancy bar with two diplomats who could barely speak a word of English, and one with slimy hands like an octopus."

Kate's laughter is immediate, "And you were generously paid for your time, and as I promised, you didn't have to remove a stitch of clothing."

"You're right, but I never again want to experience the drama of Indian men arguing over who's the better-looking woman, - the light-skinned marshmallow sauce or the dark chocolate fudge sauce."

"Ditto, and I wouldn't call you if I didn't desperately need your help… I'll owe you big time. In fact, the next time you and Esposito want to spend a spicy, romantic weekend together, I'll make sure to give him the time off."

"Uggh! You know my weakness. Shoot."

"Get dressed to the nines and get your sassy butt over to the Rockefeller Center pronto."

"Why?"

"Because they're having an auction here tonight for hunky bachelors and I need you to buy one for me."

"And why, pray tell, can't you bid on him yourself?"

"Because it's in the damn rules that you can only win one date and there happens to be two men I'm interested in tonight."

"Oh, no! You're not trapping me into this, Kate. This has **trouble** written all over it."

"It's extremely easy and I'll pay for him; you just have to smile and look sexy and speak to him for a few minutes and set a date to go out with him... Which of course, you won't attend."

"And do I know this guy you want me to bid on?"

"Yes," and Kate's grateful her overly-observant friend isn't standing in front of her right now or she'd see the pink hue staining her cheeks. "It's Richard Castle."

"The mystery novelist, Richard Castle?" she asks incredulously.

"Yes, one and the same."

"The same Richard Castle who blew your mind last week by giving you multiple orgasms with his sensual mouth and bold, writer hands?"

"Yes," she sighed, "that's him."

"The same man who spent a small fortune having a banner flown around New York City on two consecutive days which read, 'Missing the Diamond in my life. RC'?

"You already know the answer is **yes**," she huffs, "and if Captain Montgomery didn't have me on a job tonight I'd win his ass and thank him properly for deserving the title of, Sexiest-Man-of-the-Year, but I don't have a choice. I'm on the job and I have to buy someone else."

"Oh my God, Katherine Beckett, you have feelings for this author," and then she's squealing with delight, shrieking through the phone, jumping up and down excitedly. "I never thought I'd see the day. The illustrious Diamond, the woman whose motto is, I'll-never-need-a-man;-I-just-fuck-'em-and-leave-'em, has actually fallen for a red-blooded American male and a cocky, smooth-talkin', well-endowed one at that, - if you happen to believe the tabloids. Whew! I'm so happy for you."

She can perfectly picture the M.E.s gloating, outrageous smile. "Knock it off, Lanie. Are you going to help me out or not?"

"Just to confirm all the details... You need me to win a date with Rick Castle because you can't stand the thought of another woman's hands all over his smoking body."

"Umm," and she gnaws on the inside of her cheek in consternation. "I refuse to answer the question on the basis that it may incriminate me."

Riotous laughter reaches her ears. "I'll agree on one condition."

_Uh-Oh, here it comes, _Kate thought worriedly.

Lanie continues gleefully, "I'm going to pull out my tape recorder and have you repeat everything you just told me as I have to have on record that the untouchable, cold-hearted Diamond is head over heels for Richard freaking Edgar Castle."

"Get here in less than an hour," she grumbles and then hits the 'end' button on her phone.

She takes a deep breath and walks over to the line of women waiting to meet the bachelors.

It doesn't take long before Castle's baby blues zero in on her and with a smile that says, God-I've-never-been-so-happy-to-see-someone-in-my-life, he nods his head towards her in acknowledgement.

She exchanges niceties with the other men in line and can't keep a straight face when the hottie fireman, who looks like he moonlights as a Chippendale dancer, takes a step closer to her and hums, "I'm hoping to be the one who stokes your fire tonight."

She draws back from him and laughs, something sinfully teasing, and purrs, "Sorry Justin, you aren't my type. I prefer a man with a stimulating intellect over one who spends half his day in the gym trying to impress Playboy-Centerfold-wannabes."

_And ohh, _the red head in front of her is looking a bit too leeringly at Castle and is over zealously batting her eyelashes and shoving her cleavage into his face, asking him inane questions about how many books he's written...

_Well, she's obviously not a true fan as everyone who is knows he's written twenty six books._

And then the floozy red-head's simpering something about wanting to fulfill one of her dreams by writing a romance novel, and if she should win him tonight would he be willing to give her some writing tips?

_Writing tips, my ass, _and so Kate politely reminds her that they only have three minutes with each bachelor and it happens to be her turn with Mister Castle.

_Wow, if looks could kill, _and then she's standing in front of the man who has her twisted up in knots, her heart yearning for the impossible, wishing she was a better person and in a better place in her life... Her body starts tingling in awareness of him, desiring to just jump his bones.

"And here's the man of the evening," she jests, a smile lurking at the corner of her lips. "The one man whom I'm afraid will be in such high demand tonight that I won't be able to afford him."

Rick's laughter is deep, booming and the definition of sexy; his eyes crinkle at the corners from his splitting grin, making him look even more dashing.

"And you, my lovely lady," his hand catches hers and raises it to his lips, "are the one woman I'd be afraid would have your wicked way with me and leave me utterly bereft in the morning."


	19. Chapter 19

**And then she's standing in front of the man who has her twisted up in knots, her heart yearning for the impossible, wishing she was a better person; her body tingling in awareness of him, desiring to just jump his bones.**

**"And here's the man of the evening," she jests, a smile lurking at the corner of her lips. "The one man whom I'm afraid will be in such high demand tonight that I won't be able to afford him."**

**His laughter's deep, booming and the definition of sexy; his eyes crinkling at the corners from his splitting grin, making him look even more dashing.**

**"And you, my lovely lady," his hand catches hers and raises it to his lips, "are the one woman I'd be afraid would have your wicked way with me and leave me utterly bereft in the morning."**

"Mmm," she eyes him up and down like he's a fine piece of art on display. "I gather it would be extremely difficult for any woman to leave you in the morning, Castle, and if I happened to end up leaving you alone, all tempting and tousled asleep in bed, it would have to be for a **very** good reason."

"And I'd be willing to wait patiently for your explanation, as long as I knew you'd eventually open up and explain everything to me."

"What if I felt like I didn't have a choice? Or – " her lips quirk in a teasing fashion, "I didn't believe you could handle the truth?"

His eyes lock onto hers like a torpedo closing in on its target. "I'd be willing to handle anything you threw my way. All you have to do is let your guard down and give this _humble_ author a chance."

"You, humble?" she chuckles, "That's certainly one of the last terms I'd use to describe you."

His eyes open wide and his mouth downturns into a quirky pout as if he's officially offended."Then how would you describe me?"

"Arrogant, intelligent, and with those gorgeous eyes you're definitely a pretty-boy, …"

"Take that back," he demands.

"Not on your life," she teases and then continues sincerely, "You're a man with a heart as big as his stature, and an unsurpassed way with women that makes them wonder where you've been hiding their entire lives."

"I haven't been hiding, Kate," and his voice softens, mesmerizing in its truthfulness. "I've been waiting for you."

_Gawd, _and there he goes again, spouting poetic words that strike her straight through the heart and inflame her soul.

_Could the man get any more desirable?_

"Are you always this smooth with the ladies, Castle?"

"Not always, only the ones who have captivated me beyond all thought and reason, and you happen to hold that honor. I've fallen under your spell, Katherine Beckett," and her blood sizzles as his words whisper along her flesh. "You have bewitched me both body and soul."

It takes everything in her not to grab his hand and haul his ass out of line, declaring to all these single, prowling women that he's officially off the market.

_Mmm_, maybe she should just haul him to the nearest alcove, beg his forgiveness for running out on him, and prove (the naughtier the better) just how much he means to her.

"I have to give credit where credit is due. You certainly live up to your reputation as a ladies-man."

His voice is as smooth and rich as creamy butter. "You should know better than anyone else that reputations can be misleading."

"I have to agree with you there."

_Oh shit, __the_ red-headed skank's moved on from Doctor Davidson and he's suddenly turned their way. By the way the Doctor's eyeing her up and down, eyes narrowing in appreciation, Montgomery had correct intel on him that he prefers long-legged brunettes.

"Please give me an honest answer, Mister Castle," she asks almost coldly, hating how she's suddenly forced into being more business-like towards Rick, but she honestly doesn't have a choice now as Davidson's listening intently to their conversation. "Why should I bid on you tonight?"

"Did you get my message?" he asks quietly, shooting death glares the Doctor's way.

"Yes," she chuckles, "half of New York saw your message… I don't think any man has ever been that creative before in getting my attention."

His hands curl around her waist, squeezing possessively while he draws her close to his body. His expensive aftershave, combined with his own earthy, masculine scent drifts through her nostrils and makes her heady, downright horny. She inhales deeply, craving to hold his particular scent with her as long as possible.

"That's why, Kate," he purrs seductively into her ear. "My life's missing something infinitely significant without you a part of it."

Her fingers trickle over the back of his hand as she looks at him passionately. "Please trust me tonight," and then she's turning away from, flashing a dazzling smile at the Doctor next to him who just happens to not be able to take his eyes off her.

**… (Rick's POV)**

Contrary to popular belief, he really hates wearing tuxedos. They're too stuffy and constricting plus difficult to remove in the throes of passion.

For all the times he's had to dress up and be the life of the party, entertaining fans plus high and mighty book publishers, you'd think by now he'd enjoy getting decked out and feeling dapper, but his heart's not in it.

Not tonight ... When the only thing on his mind is a scintillating woman with a tragic past who has him upside down and inside out, not knowing how to reach her.

How he wished he would've backed out of this Charity function, but the hospital board had contacted Gina five months ago and asked for his participation and at this late notice, it would be just plain rude not to attend. Couple that with the fear of the monstrous fallout from his ex-wife, canceling wasn't an option.

Now he's listening to identical twins (who have as many brain cells as a gnat) drone on and on about how big fans they are, how they read each of his Derek Storm novels **togethe**r and what a travesty it was that he decided to kill off Big, Bad Storm.

"Yeah, it was the saddest day of our lives."

"Yep, the saddest but you can certainly make it up to us," Penelope whines while grabbing hold of his bicep, her fingers molding over the muscle.

"We've heard through the elite grapevine you're looking for inspiration for your new novel and who would be better than identical twins?" Priscilla smiles seductively, making her intentions perfectly clear.

"After we win you tonight, you can come back to our penthouse and ask us any questions you want."

"I'm flattered ladies, I really am," Rick replies, and pauses, because he can't very well say, '_and even if I was able to get out of my head a dangerous-to-my-heart-vixen, I wouldn't take you up on your offer.'_

"If I was fifteen years younger I'd jump at the chance for a private session with you both, but I just don't think my middle aged heart could survive the attentions of Prissy," he flashes first Priscilla his signature smile, and then looks over at her twin, "and Poppie."

Penelope laughs gaily at his nicknames and before he can protest, she's grabbed him around the neck and her thin lips are pursed on his cheek. "Don't worry, Ricky, we bring our own supply of heart-safe Viagra."

_Bloody hell, can the line please move a little faster?_

He breathes a huge sigh of relief when a cougar in her late forties asks the twins politely to move forward as they're holding up the line.

He's actually enjoying the conversation with the spirited Scientologist when something draws his attention to the women waiting in line.

And it's certainly not just something which grabs his attention, but _someone._

He wonders how it's possible for her to be even more alluring than he remembers her, but she is, - with minimal make-up, straight hair, wearing a simple, Grecian slip-on maxi dress that falls to the tip of her silver stilettos, the color of the fabric the same color as his eyes.

Gawd, he's never been happier to see anyone in his life and he's sure his smile reflects it as he nods his head towards her in acknowledgement.

He's finding it difficult to pay attention to the cougar in front of him as his heart patters out of control at the possibility she could have very possibly come here tonight with the sole purpose of buying him.

A smile cracks the corners of his mouth as turnabout is fair play, but the realist in him stamps out the idea and relies more on the possibility of coincidence.

Pure and simple coincidence.

_Or_, his romantic side argues_, the fates are intervening in our lives._

No matter the reason, he's simply overjoyed she's here tonight and right now, he honestly doesn't care if she's here as Diamond or Kate or whoever, as long as he gets to spend some time with her.

He's pathetically antsy; he's rocking occasionally on the soles of his feet, and his palms are starting to sweat and since when did a woman make him feel like he's an insecure teenager all over again?

He's considerate to the pretty red-head who is obviously interested in him, but he strains to hear Kate's conversation with the fireman on his right who looks like he stepped off a Celebrity Calendar.

He grins outlandishly when he hears her say, "Sorry Justin, you aren't my type. I prefer a man with a stimulating intellect over one who spends half his day in the gym trying to impress Playboy-Centerfold-Wannabes."

The smoky red-head's voice draws him back to her and Celeste begins asking about his life as a writer, how many years has he been in the business, and exactly how many books has he written?

He briefly states he's been fascinated with writing since his early teens but didn't attempt to publish any of his works until college and today, he's happy to say, that he's written twenty six books.

He feels like gloating, as Kate is eyeing the strawberry blond cooly, assessing her assessing him, and by the impatient glare in her eyes and her stiff body language, she's not happy that Celeste is showing this much interest in him.

His cock throbs at the notion that she just might be jealous.

And yes, _thank the Lord,_ her jealousy is confirmed when she growls through clenched teeth, "We only have three minutes with each bachelor and it happens to be my turn now to speak with Mister Castle."

Celeste breathes under her breathe, "the nerve of some women," and then moves onto the dark, brooding man to the left of him who he understands is a doctor.

"And here's the man of the evening," Kate jests, looking as sexy as a supermodel and as lovely as a bed of wildflowers dotting a hillside. _Hell,_ he certainly wants to _pick_her flowers.

"The one man whom I'm afraid will be in such high demand tonight that I won't be able to afford him."

He can't stop the laughter from breaking free as she simply amazes him by keeping him on his toes, giving new meaning to the term 'verbal foreplay'.

Before he can think about his response, the words are falling out of his mouth, "And you, my lovely lady," his hand catches hers and raises it to his lips, "are the one woman I'd be afraid would have your wicked way with me and leave me utterly bereft in the morning."

"Mmm," she eyes him up and down like he's a fine piece of art on display. "I gather it would be extremely difficult for any woman to leave you in the morning, Castle, and if I happened to end up leaving you alone, all tempting and tousled asleep in bed, it would have to be for a very good reason."

"And I'd be willing to wait patiently for your explanation, as long as I knew you'd eventually open up and explain everything to me."

_Oh,_he's put her on the spot and he can see the wheels of motion turning around in that beautiful head of hers, frantically trying to determine what to say to him.

"What if I felt like I didn't have a choice? Or – " her lips quirk in a teasing fashion, "I didn't believe you could handle the truth?"

His eyes find hers, and he can easily see the underlying insecurity in their depths. "I'd be willing to handle anything you threw my way. All you have to do is let your guard down and give this _humble_ author a chance."

"You, humble?" she chuckles, "That's certainly one of the last terms I'd use to describe you."

He plays like he's offended, _the little minx,_as he happens to be the most humble author in his elite circle of friends.

He can't resist the temptation of delving further and trying to find out just how deep her feelings run for him, so he asks slyly, "Then how would you describe me?"

"Arrogant, intelligent, and with those gorgeous eyes you're definitely a pretty-boy, …"

"Take that one back," he demands teasingly, secretly loving the give and take that comes naturally between them.

"Not on your life," Kate teases, all flirty voice and come-hither smile. "You're a man with a heart as big as his stature, and an unsurpassed way with women that makes them wonder where you've been hiding their entire lives."

His heart jumps at her words; a flash of _hope,_bright and immense, threads through his entire being.

"I haven't been hiding, Kate," and his voice softens as he throws caution to the wind, exposing his vulnerability. "I've been waiting for you."

Her eyes open wide in surprise, and her lips part softly as his words soak in, sinking home.

"Are you always this smooth with the ladies, Castle?"

He decides to go for broke by saying, "Not always, only the ones who have captivated me beyond all thought and reason, and you happen to hold that honor. I've fallen under your spell, Katherine Beckett. You have bewitched me both body and soul."

He doesn't think he's ever seen anyone so beautiful in his life as at that moment. Her eyes fill with moisture, making them glisten an unusual shade of green, reminding him of a rare emerald. The stars in the dusk night shimmer through the full length glass windows, making her skin appear ethereal, casting her lips in a tempting hue of pink; lips he knows he'll never tire of kissing.

It takes everything in him not to say, _"To hell with this auction,"_and drag her away somewhere, anywhere they can be alone.

"I have to give credit where credit is due. You certainly live up to your reputation as a ladies-man."

"You should know better than anyone else that reputations can be misleading."

"I have to agree with you there."

He's surprised by her quick and easy agreement but his thoughts are pulled away from her momentarily as they notice Celeste moving on from the Doctor. By the way the dark man's eyes alight on Kate, he's preferential to brunettes, (hell, a man who swears he only dates blonds could very easily change his mind upon seeing Miss Beckett) and in that moment, he senses a barrier going up around her, an immovable iron fence that cages Kate inside, bringing back to life the illustrious Diamond.

"Please give me an honest answer, Mister Castle," she says matter-of-factly. "Why should I bid on you tonight?"

"Did you get my message?" he asks quietly, shooting the Doctor a, didn't-your-mother-ever-teach-you-it's-bad-manners-to-listen-into-someone-else's-conversation, glare.

"Yes," she chuckles half-heartedly, "half of New York saw your message… I don't think any man has ever been that creative before in getting my attention."

He can't let her get away from him tonight without her knowing, undoubtedly, how she's affected him so he captures her waist, squeezing possessively while he draws her close.

Gawd, she feels amazing and the blood pours south as his fingers dig into her hourglass figure... If he lets his right hand slide just a little lower, his thumb would reside over her sensual tattoo.

"That's why, Kate," he purrs seductively into her ear. "My life's missing something infinitely significant without you a part of it."

Her fingers slide over the back of his hand as she pulls back from him. Her eyes blaze passionately as she whispers, "Please trust me tonight," and then she's turning away from, flashing a dazzling smile to the next bachelor in line.

And he's left with a hollowness he didn't expect as soon as her full attention is drawn elsewhere.

**...**

**Coming up next chappie, the auction**


	20. Chapter 20

_**A very special thanks to FDWojo for rescuing me &amp; Diamond this past Monday** _

_..._

**He can't let her get away from him tonight without her knowing, undoubtedly, how she's affected him so he captures her waist, squeezing possessively while he draws her close.**

**Gawd, she feels amazing and the blood pours south as his fingers dig into her hourglass figure... If he lets his right hand slide just a little lower, his thumb would reside over her sensual tattoo.**

**"That's why, Kate," he purrs seductively into her ear. "My life's missing something infinitely significant without you a part of it."**

**Her fingers slide over the back of his hand as she pulls back from him. Her eyes blaze passionately as she whispers, "Please trust me tonight," and then she's turning away from, flashing a dazzling smile to the next bachelor in line.**

**And he's left with a hollowness he didn't expect as soon as her full attention is drawn elsewhere.**

**...**

Rick doesn't like how the dark eyes of the swarthy Doctor keep cascading over Kate's body, doesn't like his eager laugh or zealous mannerisms towards her and he sure as hell doesn't like her flirting with the man.

And there's no other word for it than flirt as she bats her eyelashes at him and asks what his specialty is in the medical field, all in that delicious Diamond voice that makes every muscle in his body achingly aware of her.

He's trying to pay attention to the shy woman in front of him but becomes distracted as soon as he hears the Doctor ask her her name.

Kate holds out her slender fingers to grasp Davidson's in a handshake and replies, "Houghton, Houghton Beckett."

_What the hell's going on?_

But he doesn't have time to analyze why Kate's given this hoity toity gentleman her middle name because the Mayor's suddenly snuck up on him and slapped him hard on the back, saying how wonderful it is to see such a great citizen of New York willing to sacrifice his time, among other things, (cough) for the good of the Presbyterian Children's hospital.

He's grateful the Mayor whisks him out of line so he doesn't have to humor anymore man-hungry women and by the time they've talked about each of their families, touched briefly on politics, plus Rick's upcoming poker game, he slyly asks the Mayor for a small favor.

"No favor is ever small where your concerned," he chuckles.

"This one is just a tiny one, I promise. Do you see the striking brunette in the sky blue dress near the bar?"

"Yes, she'd be hard to miss." At Rick's quirked eyebrow and haughty grin, the Mayor continues, "and get your head out of the clouds as she's way out of your league."

Rick guffaws, "Don't I know it. Her name is Houghton Beckett and I need to know her auction number."

"Oh, you lucky bastard, you. You've already made a move on her, haven't you?"

"Something like that... I'm hoping I don't crash and burn tonight."

_On the other hand, I'm hoping she burns beneath my fingertips all night long._

"Sure, I'll find out for you, but you owe me another MacCallan whiskey."

"It'll be on your desk tomorrow."

As Rick heads back stage, he sees Kate with a voluptuous African American woman who's thrown her head back and is laughing gaily.

Kate seems to be a bit peeved as she rolls her eyes dramatically and huffs something, but the next moment she's smiling warmly at the woman before linking her arm through hers. Together, they walk to the center of aisle three, a place he notices, with a great view of the men on display.

By the time he learns her number is 22, the auction is ready to begin and the last words she said to him, "Please trust me tonight," keep rolling around and around in his head.

...

When the announcer, a flamboyant gay man who's having the time of his life prodding and complimenting the bachelors, calls Richard Castle's name, her heart thumps like she's just sprinted a mile.

"Here we have a celebrity amongst our midst, ladies," the announcer declares. "Richard Edgar Castle, the master of the macabre, the author of the Derrick Storm mystery novels. And I have to point out," he dramatically gives Castle the once-over, "this man looks like he could certainly take a lady by storm." His hand quickly begins fanning his face which pulls a riotous laugh from the crowd.

"Turn around, big guy and show off the merchandise."

"Oh my God," Lanie hisses, "You've been holding out on me, Katherine Beckett. That man is beyond dreamy with those eyes and that bod. His sexual magnetism is off the charts. I could spend hours eating him alive, one sweet morsel at a time."

"I know you could," Kate chuckles, "but you certainly don't need the White Whale as you have your own bit of Hispanic paradise."

"I do and Javier keeps me very satisfied. Doesn't mean I can't look at some almond candy now and then and fantasize. Damn girl, he's one fine piece of ass."

_If you only knew, _Kate thinks, envisioning his broad chest looming over her, eyes scintillating with desire as his erect cock pulses against her pelvis.

A hot flash assails her, suffusing heat throughout her entire body, and she suddenly finds herself mimicing the announcer by fanning her own face.

"Now I understand why you needed my help tonight. You certainly don't want any other woman getting her claws into **your man**."

At Kate's exasperated look, Lanie laughs, "Don't worry, I won't invade your territory, just trample over it a bit."

Kate chuckles, "As long as you don't sample him, we're good."

She can't tear her eyes from the stage as Castle's actually preening, grinning like he's the man-of-the-hour, and with that coal black tuxedo fitting him like a glove, he looks like he deserves the title, like he just walked off the front page of GQ magazine.

He brushes his hand through his thick as molasses hair before unbuttoning the three buttons on his jacket and playfully removing it from off his shoulders, swinging it around in a circle before tossing it out into the crowd.

The announcer wolf whistles and pronounces, "This one is all man and I'm betting, dear ladies, worth every penny."

His Armani jacket lands on a seventy year old woman sitting across the aisle from her. She mutters, "Ohhh my," and Kate wouldn't be surprised if she happened to faint from the gesture.

Rick flexes his muscles teasingly and parades around on stage, making sure his hard ass is the focus of attention, simply entrancing the crowd, _the edible man._

Lanie practically swoons as she says, "You have your hands full with this one, Kate."

"Don't I know it."

Castle finally catches her gaze and fearlessly winks at her, throwing her a, I'm-all-yours-tonight-if-you'll-just-have-me, smooth smile.

"We're going to start the bidding at $5,000.00 to purchase a date with a piece of New York history. Bidding will jump up in $500.00 increments."

Before the bidding begins, the older woman says loudly, "That man is a catch. If I was twenty years younger I'd be all over him. "

_I couldn't agree with you more, _and by the time the bidding's up to $7,000.00, Kate raises her number.

_..._

He's in his element, displayed like a piece of meat at the local farmer's market.

Forty pairs of feminine eyes are boring into him, watching his every move, basking in every smile, judging his physique and secretly wondering if the rumors about his prowess are true.

But there's only one pair of eyes he cares about.

Kate.

He's enjoying showing off to the crowd, making a spectacle of himself, unbuttoning his jacket and slinging it towards an elderly lady who looks like she hasn't been on a date in this century.

He's relishing showing off his muscular form.

_For her._

_God, _it's a unique combination of thrilling plus challenging, trying to impress one particular stubborn, extraordinarily beautiful woman.

She's sitting on the end of a center aisle, next to the bubbly African-American and by her restrained smile, she's trying hard not to laugh at his antics.

Trying and succeeding.

He hopes to get a rise out of her by posing like he's a body builder but she only purses her lips, looking like she's wondering why she finds him so attractive, and shakes her head from side to side.

At least the gay announcer appreciates his efforts as he wolf whistles, inciting the crowd to laughter.

He strolls confidently across the stage, giving her a nice view of his ass, and notices her friend leaning into her and saying something which makes that brilliant, take-my-breath-away smile of hers break free, something she obviously agrees to.

_Hmm,_ black beauty's face is alight with delight and mischief.

He may just have an ally in his corner he's never met, and he determines to find out more about her friend and their conversation.

By any means necessary.

By the time he's finally able to meet Kate's gaze, he winks seductively, trying to portray she's the only woman he wants winning him, the only one he plans on going home with tonight, and then the auction's begun.

...

He's getting nervous.

Poppy and Prissy are having way too much fun raising their number high in the air, not even giving the auctioneer a chance to breathe before they've outbid someone else.

And yes, _thank the Almighty_, Kate's been bidding as well, albeit non-enthusiastically, the she-loves-to-drive-me-crazy minx.

She's going to pay for being so nonchalant about it.

_Pay dearly._

A vision of her cuffed to his headboard with purple fuzzy handcuffs wearing only fishnet stockings comes to mind and now, _bloody hell_, he has to try and hide a growing erection from prying female eyes.

The auctioneer's ranting off numbers as the bidding goes up. "36 bids $12,500. Number 4, (Castle cringes as it's the scary twins) bids $13,000.00. Number 22 $13,500.00."

And then something happens which he surely didn't expect and makes him pause. Kate's friend lifts her number, 41, to bid $14,000.00.

His eyes delve to Katherine's face, watch her reaction closely and there's only a brief tilt to her lips. By her calm demeanor and laid-back manner, she expected this.

_Those two lovely women are up to something sneaky and I happen to be at the heart of it._

The thought alone makes a smile spread across his face from ear to ear, displaying pearly white teeth.

"Number 1 (the pretty redheaded Celeste) $14,500.00."

By the time the bidding is up to $25,000.00, _(Oh my God, we're talking serious money now and his ego can't help soaring a bit) _Castle's grabbed the mike out of the announcer's hand and is looking directly into Kate's hazel orbs as he promises a dedication in his new book to whoever happens to win the date.

By the time the winner is announced with a bid of $33,000.00, he doesn't know quite how to feel about it. The vibrant African American who seems to be close to Kate saunters up to the stage, head held high, flaunting her curvaceous hips, giving him a blatant 'come hither' smile.

The announcer holds the mike out to her and she purrs, "Sorry ladies, I'm going to steal this man for the rest of the night and see just how handsy this author can be."

He laughs outright at this voluptuous, bold woman who just might be difficult to impress, as well as impossible to handle...

His chest puffs out slightly as he notices Kate's response.

She annoyingly crosses her arms and her eyes turn a smoky hue while glaring at her friend, 'You're-going-to-regret-that-move-dearie.'

"Hi, I'm Lanie," the black beauty says as she links her arm through his. "Hang on Writer Monkey because you're in for the time of your life."


	21. Chapter 21

**This chappie dedicated to my new found friend, joelle h good.**

**...**

He's surprised by how much fun he's having.

Lanie Parrish is open, self-assured , sassy and brilliantly blunt. Quite a rare combination to find in such a career-oriented woman.

And quite a thrilling surprise to find out she's close friends with Kate.

They're sitting at the bar and Lanie's sipping a margarita slowly, stirring her straw lazily, cocoa eyes embedded on his face.

"I can see why Kate's attracted to you," she purrs. "With that witty mouth of yours combined with dashing good looks and bad boy persona, you could make any woman weak in the knees."

"Kate's attracted to me?" and he grins like he's just learned the biggest secret of his career.

"Don't play Mister-lnnocent with me, because I know better. Women flock to you like seagulls to the beach and you revel in all those feminine wiles."

"I do enjoy attention from the opposite sex, but if you truly know Kate, you'll have to agree she's a rare breed of woman. She's hard to read at times, an expert at giving mixed signals."

"She's an expert at somethin'," Lanie laughs. "An expert at tying men up in knots and leaving them high and dry. You certainly fall into the first category, Mister Castle."

"Hmm, I can't disagree with you there."

He sneaks a peek over at Kate talking animatedly to Doctor Josh Davidson, the smarmy heart specialist / cardiac surgeon, lover of all things outdoors, (who happens to be lying through his teeth when he put on his bio that his favorite activity is talking romantic strolls through the park at twilight) owner of a Harley-Davidson Electra Glide, who spends a minimum of two months out of the year being a 'Medical Missionary', going to underprivileged countries helping to save the world one patient at a time.

God, the only consolation he has over tall, brooding and handsome is knowing he sold for just $17,000.00.

His mind tries to focus on the fact that KATE asked him earlier, practically plead with him, to please trust her tonight. Also, she registered at the auction as Houghton Beckett, instead of Katherine, which meant something was definitely up, but honestly, he can't decipher any of the clues. His heart's a jumbled mess and his body's on full alert with Kate, looking like an untouchable, virginal Goddess, just twelve feet away from him. Her tinkling laughter reaches his ears and every time he glances at her, he notices the feminine, graceful line of her back, making mini-Castle glaringly aware of her.

He's struggling to stay in his seat, longing to just walk over to her and grasp her shoulders from behind, plant sensual kisses down her spine, make her writhe beneath his mouth as he learns one vertebrae at a time, showing Doctor Pretentious-Motorcycle-Boy that she's officially off the market.

He's pulled back to the raven-haired woman in front of him as she laughs.

"You've fallen hard and fast, but it's your lucky night because I just happen to be the only person who can help you."

"Get help from a commanding, sassy, ebony beauty whom I'm afraid could whoop my ass?"

"And don't you forget it, Writer-Monkey. You had better not hurt my girl or I'm going to have to hunt you down and drag your fine ass to the morgue and put you on ice."

"You should be more worried about me as Kate could easily stick a pin in my over inflated ego and promptly flatten it." He takes a gulp of his martini, before continuing, "I'm certainly not opposed to help from a highly intelligent woman and especially if she's helping me ensare another remarkable, incredibly frustrating one, but won't we both be in the doghouse if Kate gets wind of us collaborating together?"

"Doghouse, no?" Lanie laughs, "More like she'll have us digging our own graves, but I'm pretty confident in those Lothario abilities of yours."

"Why?"

"Because of the way her eyes light up when she mentions your name. Because you're the first man she's talked about since her last relationship broke her heart. Because I hear and see my best friend again when she spouts off about an evening spent with you." Lanie's smile reveals naughty-sweet-nothings as she slides her index finger down his chest. "Because she praises your skills."

"She discusses my skills, huh?" and his cheeky, maniacal grin outshines Bradley Cooper's at his latest movie premiere.

"Among other things, and don't let it go to your head. She needs a down-to-earth guy who can accept what she does for a living. I haven't misjudged you, have I?"

"No," and his eyes spark in truthfulness. "I'm the one man who won't leave her due to her profession."

Left unsaid between them is, _I'm the one man who won't leave her period._

"She cares for you, Castle," Lanie says softly, sincerely, "but getting her to admit it will be like pulling teeth. She's reserved, closed-off, afraid of her own feelings, keeps them under lock and key. Kate's most confidant when she lets Diamond lead, but I get the impression you're the one man who can help her to unlock her emotions, reawaken the real Katherine Beckett. I firmly believe she needs you in her life right now."

"Thank you. I sincerely hope you're right." His lips lift into a cocky, chauvinistic grin as he says, "Is it my chiseled, honest features, - my trustworthy baby blues, - or my stalwart demeanor which makes you trust in me?"

"None of the above. I could say it's because you aren't afraid of commitment."

"No," he chuckles, "my two past marriages are solid proof of that."

"I could also say it's because of the great lengths you've gone to try and impress her, but there's only one thing you've done that spoke to me, made me a believer in you."

Rick assumed Lanie would mention either having Kate's necklace clasp repaired, or the multiple flowers with romantic messages delivered to hotels throughout the city, or the aerial banner he had flown over central park, but what left her mouth honestly left him speechless.

"I know it was you who donated a hefty sum to the New York Police Widow fund in Johanna's name."

Rick's mouth drops open in surprise and he quickly glances away from the pretty woman, looking like a kid who has just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"How did you find out?" He pulls on the knot of his tie to loosen it, looking uncomfortable under the heavy weight of her stare. "I donated on the explicit understanding that it would be anonymous. No one was supposed to be able to link my name to the funds."

"Sorry, I can't reveal my sources, but don't worry," Lanie breathes, "your secret's safe with me. Kate doesn't know about the gift and she certainly won't find out from me."

"Thank you," Rick purrs, expelling a heavy sigh of relief. "I'm afraid she wouldn't look at the donation in the same light as you."

"Believe me. I understand."

"So I take it you have a plan?"

"Yes," she smiles widely, like a woman who loves getting her way. She leans into him as if they're two lovers discussing their next rendezvous, her hand splayed comfortably on his thigh. "Now this is what we're going to do."

... **Kate's POV**

She hates that she hurt him.

Rick's standing on stage looking like he's having the time of his life, showing off his spectacular physique, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning and all that dissipates as soon as the auctioneer counts down Lanie's bid.

"Going once for $33,000.00."

She can see the wheels in his mind turning as his eyes plead with hers, "Come on, Kate, keep bidding."

"Going Twice... Sold to number 41!"

His face falls briefly before his eyes dart away from hers... If she didn't know him so well, he may have been able to hide his disappointment, but she catches the soft droop of his eyes, the pouty lips, and it hits her like a ton of bricks that she's once more hurt this endearing, beautiful man, who has the rare trait of being even more beautiful on the inside.

_Shit! What have I done?_

A quirky half-smile adorns his lips as he watches Lanie walk towards the stage, and her heart screams at her utter betrayal as she watches Castle shuffling uncomfortably from foot to foot.

And _wow_, Lanie's really playing up the show, flashing him a seductive smile, keening into him before reaching for the announcer's microphone and purring, "Sorry ladies, I'm going to steal this man for the rest of the night and see just how handsy this author can be."

_Really? So that's how the night's going to go?_

Kate harrumphs back in her chair, annoying crossing her arms while she glares at her friend.

And then Lanie's linking her arm through his, rubbing her ample bosom against his bicep and whispering something in his ear.

And by the churlish gleam in his eye, it's something she definitely wouldn't like.

She rolls her eyes as Rick leads Lanie off the stage with a sexy swagger that she knows is just for her benefit, and determines for the time being, to put them both out of her mind because she has a job to do, and that job doesn't include wondering what shenanigans her best friend might be up to with the man she's finding harder and harder to resist.

She's having a hard time believing the auctioneer as he touts the praises of Doctor Joshua Davidson… His favorite hobbies being riding his big-bad Harley and taking long strolls through the park as well as giving of his time generously to Doctors Without Borders.

She raises her number half-heartedly while he's up for bid, thinking the man sounds just too-good-to-be-true, and with her profession, she's definitely learned that if a man sounds that way, he most likely is.

The Doctor seems pleased when she wins him, beckons her eagerly up to the stage and reaches for her hand.

He says smoothly, "You were the only woman I was hoping would win me tonight, Miss Beckett. Please follow me," and then he's pulling her by the hand, leading her off the stage towards the bar area.

She doesn't like how he's taken the macho role and is directing her where to go, but she sighs and goes along with it as he's most likely the type of man who sees a woman as slightly inferior, instead of his equal.

They pass Lanie and Rick sitting on stools chatting animatedly, their knees barely an inch apart and her friend (the one who's going to hate her come morning as she's going to blab to Espo) looks like she can't get enough of Rick's mouth as her eyes keep straying down to his lips, absorbing every lush word from his baritone bass.

_Uggh!_

Doctor Davidson asks her if a white wine is okay and she politely nods, chalking another point against him for not asking her what she'd like to drink.

She purposefully chooses a spot with her back to Lanie and Castle as _God,_ it's going to drive her nuts seeing her friend, voted the Class flirt of Senior Stuyvesant High, pull out all her vampish tricks to try and get her riled.

_And who would've thought that Doctor tall, dark and cocky would be such a talker?_

Davidson's overly self-absorbed, speaking nonstop about how he was top of the class in Med-school and how he was the first intern chosen to help with a complicated surgical procedure and how after only two short years at Bellevue Hospital, he's been given the grand opportunity of promotion.

She's actually grateful that he hasn't asked her questions about herself because obviously, she can't tell him she's a high end escort and dallies as a C.I. on the side for the New York Police department; but her ruse of being a tennis instructor falls short in her eyes, and having to pretend that both her parents are still alive and well is ... well, going to be very difficult, to say the least.

Lanie's loud laughter, filled with frisky seduction, floats to her ears, and _damn_, she hates to admit it, but whatever she's planning for, I-need-to-make-my-best-friend-see-reason, is undoubtedly working.

She's officially ready to ditch Doctor-too-good-to-be-true-Merciful-Death and flounce her way over to Lanie and say, "You did it, Lanes. You know me too well. I'm officially claiming Writer-Man and taking him away from your tempting clutches and "the girls" who could make any man succumb in two seconds flat."

Just as she's about ready to excuse herself from Davidson, she feels _**his**_ eyes on her.

She can't explain it, - this jolt of awareness that skips along her spine, this inexplicable, undeniable connection she feels towards Richard Castle, binding her to him, - but she knows his orbs are cascading down her back, admiring her ass in the dress she consciously chose because it matches perfectly the color of his eyes.

A shiver is torn from her, and when Davidson asks if she'd like to borrow his coat, she shakes her head negatively, never planning on wearing another man's jacket except Rick's, the one she wraps herself up in every night before she falls asleep.

She's pitiful really, pining after a man she doesn't deserve and yet hopeful at the same time that destiny is conspiring against them to throw them together at every turn.

She hears his entrancing voice and it stirs her further.

All she has to do is believe in the possibility of them and he's right there, waiting for her, right within her grasp.

Her heart whispers, Castle's the one who can fill the gaping hole in her life; he's the elusive happiness she's been searching for... He's the chance to have the kind of love her parents shared, not to mention divine, out-of-this-world, mind-blowing sex, that also happens to be the truest form of intimacy she's ever experienced in her life.

Davidson's smiling and touching her elbow, invading her personal space and the smell of his rich, spicy aftershave makes her stomach turn, wishing she was surrounded by Castle's more natural scent.

He's asking what she would like to do for their date and she tugs on her lower lip saying, "Hmm, give me some time to think about it as I'm going to be busy until the end of next week."

And that starts him talking about his plans to leave on his 'Operation Smile' tour at the end of the week, but her thoughts are definitely elsewhere... On the author behind her wearing Prada like he owns stock in the company. She'd bet a good deal of money that he's also wearing a delicious, bad-boy grin which would tempt her to feast on his satin lips, tasting to her heart's content.

She dares sneak a peek at the two and her eyes narrow in consternation as Lanie leans in all siren-like and splays her hand on Rick's thigh, her eyes dancing in delight as she talks in hushed tones.

She hears Davidson vying for her attention and she turns towards him, embarrassed by her lack of interest in him, in this job, in pleasing Montgomery period.

"I'm sorry," she says, catching the dark eyes of the Doctor. "I've been fighting an illness all week (It's only half a lie as she's been suffering from the Castle blues ever since she left his tousled body sound asleep in bed) and it's suddenly hitting me. Do you mind if I call you tomorrow?"

"No, no, not at all. Give me your phone and I'll input my number." She pulls her disposable phone out of her clutch and hands it to Davidson before scanning back to Lanie and Rick.

Lanie is laughing and tugging on his hand to get him off the bar stool. He smiles at her like he happens to be the most enthralled man in the room and lets her drag him playfully off. She's practically skipping in her three-inch-come-and-get-me heels. She suddenly stops, which he isn't expecting, and his broad front runs into her curvy backside. Rick's hands grasp her waist to hold her steady and she snuggles into him, giggling seductively.

"Here Houghton," and Davidson hands her phone back to her. "It was wonderful meeting you."

"You too," and then she's walking away from the Doctor, her heart on her sleeve as Lanie turns in Rick's arms and faces him, grabbing his lavender silk tie, pulling on it teasingly as she slinks backwards.

Castle follows her feisty friend like an obedient, love-sick puppy and allows her to lead him to a closed door which Lanie opens zealously. Rick pauses and glances her way, looking like a smug, I'm-about-to-get-lucky-tonight Casanova. His torrid blue gaze never leaves hers as he removes the tie and places it in his front pocket, winking naughtily before following Lanie inside.

_Oh My fuckin God!_ she fumes as the door closes soundly behind him and before she can think about it, she's pulled her 4 inch stiletto's off her feet and is jogging towards the closet door.

She's going to kill one outrageous, brazen black woman and then maul an annoying, scrumptious author who's testing her limits.

Maul that gorgeous body and eat him alive.

...

She doesn't get the chance... As soon as she opens the door, darkness assails her and large hands grab her suggestively, propelling her into the wall. Rick's hands are pinned on her pelvis, his massive thigh shoved between her legs, his breath hot and smoky against her flesh.

"You're going to **pay **for not buying me, Kath - er - ine," and his lips descend, devour and conquer.


	22. Chapter 22

**Castle follows her feisty friend like an obedient, love-sick puppy and allows her to lead him to a closed door which Lanie opens zealously. Rick pauses and glances her way, looking like a smug, I'm-about-to-get-lucky-tonight Casanova. His torrid blue gaze never leaves hers as he removes the tie and places it in his front pocket, winking naughtily before following Lanie inside.**

_**Oh My fuckin God! **_**she fumes as the door closes soundly behind him and before she can think about it, she's pulled her 4 inch stiletto's off her feet and is jogging towards the closet door.**

**She's going to kill one outrageous, brazen black woman and then maul an annoying, scrumptious author who's testing her limits.**

**Maul that gorgeous body and eat him alive.**

**...**

**She doesn't get the chance... As soon as she opens the door, darkness assails her and large hands grab her suggestively, propelling her into the wall. Rick's hands are pinned on her pelvis, his massive thigh shoved between her legs, his breath hot and smoky against her flesh.**

**"You're going to ****pay ****for **not **buying me, Kath - er - ine," and his lips descend, devour and conquer.**

**...**

He raids her mouth, sucking her tongue back into his own and teasing it with his teeth. His lips are devilish, destroying in their intensity, every needful thrust of his tongue on a mission to taste her.

His hand brushes up along her waist and the silky glide of the Grecian dress pulls goose bumps along her over-heightened flesh, drawing from her a helpless moan as he continually plunders her mouth.

He's reduced her to a wordless mess of need.

Just as she sinks into the hard expanse of his chest, she hears Lanie gloat, "You owe me big time, Kate," and then there's a loud, echoing 'slap'.

_Son of a bitch, _the sassy hussy had just swatted Castle's ass, and from the broad grin spreading beneath her lips, he enjoyed it just a little bit too much.

Lanie's slyly sneaking out the door as Castle purrs, "Fifteen minutes should be just the right amount of time for what I've got planned for you," and then his lips are on her carotid, nibbling and sucking the tender flesh while his hands stroke broadly along the sides of her ribs, strumming teasingly over the swell of her breasts.

Her nipples are standing at attention, sorely aware of him, and she knows her lingerie's ruined, soaked from the thought alone of having his large cock deep inside her, but she stills his movement, grasps his cheeks with her hands and draws his face up to hers.

"Gawd Castle, you make it hard for a woman **not** to miss you."

"Mmm, you certainly do a good job of hiding it from me."

He watches in fascination as her eyes darken, reflecting desire with underlying sorrow. "Forgive me," she says, nibbling insecurely on her lower lip, "I shouldn't have left you last Saturday morning. I should've listened to my heart and stayed. I should've woken up in your arms and spent the entire morning learning everything about you, explored this incredible connection we have. I'm sorry, Rick. Truly sorry."

"Thank you," and he brushes a long strand of hair away from her cheek, fingers lingering in the soft tresses. "You don't know how much that means to me." His lips burrow into the soft curvature of her neck, inhaling the addicting scent of cherries wafting off her hair. "But you're going to have to earn that forgiveness, Kate. Make it up to me one moment at a time."

He bites her ear lobe before purring, "Starting right now."

A shudder trips its way down her spine at his dark tone. His tongue slides, hot and tempting down the sleek column of her neck and what little air is left in her lungs exhales on a dirty moan.

...

It feels so damn electric, each and every time, - this frenzy of emotions intermingled with dark desire.

His want, immense and unyielding, combined with poetic words of love that prickle her skin, seep under her flesh and rush roaringly to her heart, breaking down her brick wall one thrust at a time.

"I've been dying to get my hands on you all night," he pants, running his warm palms down over her hips, before he cups her ass, molding the muscle with his dexterous fingers.

The temperature in the small closet seems to jump another ten degrees as he pulls her roughly towards him, her molten core directly on his manhood. "You're the only woman I'll ever want to be with again."

A tinge of pink glosses her cheeks as she hums, "When you look at me like this, I want you to do really dirty things to me."

His eyebrow quirks before a wicked grin spreads as wide as he is tall. "Dirty it is," he growls and before she realizes what's happening, he's turned her away from him, running his hands beneath the shimmery material, along the outside of her thighs, pushing his pelvis against her ass.

Her palms plant on the wall and she grinds slowly against him, doing some fuckin' erotic dance, and her movements cause his erection to grow painfully urgent against her curvaceous rear.

"We don't have much time," he warns in her ear, and his fingers fervently dig into her ribs, slicing over her breasts, cupping them through the warm silk of her dress. "It should be illegal for you not to wear a bra," he husks as he pinches her nipples, rolls the pert buds through his fingers.

Kate cries out and arches her body, letting her head drop back against his shoulder, exposing her neck to his eager mouth.

As his lips descend once more, she fumes, "Fuck, Rick! Get to it," reveling in the way her body's responding to him but needing infinitely more, needing to curb the pulsing ache between her thighs.

He's not one to keep a lady waiting so he slides one large palm up the front of her thigh and begins to rub her through the skimpy lace covering her womanhood.

"Oh God, Castle," she purrs. "Just like that."

"What color are your panties?" he asks breathlessly, like he's been fantasizing about them all night long.

"Umm, cre - am," she murmurs but all rational thought has left her, given what he's doing to her right now, fingers sliding and dancing along her lingerie, touching her core with just the right amount of pressure.

"I get to keep them as well," he states, and it's a blatant command, not a request, as he's not giving her the option to refuse him.

Just as the fire's stoking higher and higher and she's breathy and needy and ready to demand he get her off with his fingers, he withdraws his touch and the fabric of her dress whispers in a quiet flutter back down over her thighs.

_Blasted manipulative lover._

He crowds her while he unbuckles his belt, his firm thighs pressing into the backs of her legs, holding her in place, not allowing her to move a muscle.

She hears him unbuckling his belt; the tinkle and rattle of the metal fastening, the slap of leather through the opening and then the pop of a button and the dizzying, provocative buzz of his zipper coming down.

She tenses, arousal flooding her veins, knowing what's coming, her heart pumping harder, faster with delicious anticipation and desperate need.

He frees his erection from his boxers, and it sends her gasping for breath as he strokes along his own length.

"Pull your dress up," and his brute male tone has her licking her lips expectantly, wrapping her fingers onto the light, slinky fabric and obeying him. She places the dress around her waist to expose the back of her thighs and ample ass. Castle slides his hand between her cheeks and cups the dampness of her arousal through her underwear, swiftly drawing them to one side, arching a finger up inside her without further warning.

She ends up hugging the wall and spewing a salacious sound of pure need when he adds a second thick digit and curls them inside her.

"Have you wanted this all night?" he growls possessively against her sweat-dampened neck. "Were you waiting for this, Kate?" With a long torturous caress, he slides his fingers out slowly so that her juices spread over her swollen clit.

"I've been waiting for you," she whimpers, and her hands draw around to his ass, squeezing mercilessly just before her fingernails rake over the hard muscle.

"Bend over," he demands, and she thinks she just might be a tad bit in love with 'I'm-in-charge-and-don't-you-forget-it,' Bad-Boy Castle.

As soon as she's down, he nudges her legs wider apart and then yanks her panties off her hips in one smooth motion. He jerks on her pubic bones and positions himself behind her, moving too fast and not near fast enough.

The head of his shaft slicks through her folds, sweeping her arousal across her swollen glans and with a dirty grunt he shoves into her.

"Shit!" shudders out of his mouth at finally being joined together, her tight walls encompassing his girth deliciously, just as he's been craving since he first saw her standing in line earlier tonight.

Castle puts one hand on her shoulder, keeping the other on her hip to hold her steady, and then he starts to fuck her, gloriously fast and filthy.

He's hard and thick and he's pummeling his way into her and _Fuck!_

His breath spirals down her back; his hand mutilating the thin flesh of her hip as he keeps up a constant rhythm.

Kate braces herself so every thrust of his hips is met by gripping resistance from her body, drawing him deeper inside of her on every down stroke, and working him with every long withdrawal.

She circles her pelvis when he stops moving, his full length buried all the way in, and his lips find the crook of her neck, opening wide along the sexy divot.

His arousal is liquid fire in his veins, torturing him with every sound that leaves her lips, - every soft sigh, every loud exhale and fleshy whimper. The need is building low in his belly, starting to inch up his spine so he grips her harder and commands her to stop before he loses complete control.

She's burning. Burning like a raging inferno that's been feeding on pure oxygen for the past several hours.

She's leaning into the wall for support, her back curved delicately, her ass on full display as he tilts his hips, angling even deeper.

After several long seconds where he catches his breath, murmurs how fuckin beautiful she is along her spine, she says in the sexiest voice he's ever heard in his life, "Move, Castle. I'm so close," and she squeezes her sugar walls.

His hips move of their own volition. Their flesh slaps against one another; the mounds of her buttocks shuddering up against his lower abs, pounding relentlessly towards the climactic high. He plucks at her nipple through the fabric and then slides his palm beneath the dress to her flexing abdomen, flattening his hand over the words, 'Vincit Omnia Veritas'.

"I'm there, Kate," he warns her, hips bucking in sensual waves, his cock stroking the mystical ridged surface inside her at such a perfect angle she wants to scream.

She's tingling and aching with this out-of-control mounting fire that is blazing so bright she feels it licking her; starting to consume her from the inside out, and she bends her knees slightly, yearning for _him _to burn every inch of her.

She feels him throbbing, grinding, seconds before he gasps, curling his fingers into her tattoo, arching his hips up inside her once more before he gives in, spurting into her with a choked cry of release.

He has just enough awareness left to slip his hand to her womanhood, lightly brushing over her clit, his trembling fingers giving her the final pressure she needs to shatter with him.

His sensual touch, coupled with his powerful orgasm of hot bursts of semen, sends her flying, - burning euphoria eating her alive, melting her bones and weakening her knees as she succumbs to her own devastating climax.

She can't think, even breathe, as she propels over the edge of oblivion, seeing colorful stars flash across the night sky, fighting to stop the scream barreling its way through her chest, desiring to break free.

Castle hugs her from behind, his head resting between her shoulder blades while he catches his breath, holding them both upright.

**...**

"I need you to promise me something," he whispers as he slowly withdraws from inside her, rubbing his hands down the length of her arms before putting his package back into place.

She turns to him, all liquid, sated hazel eyes, hair wild against her ethereal face, looking like an otherworldly vision he alone has the privilege to behold.

"I need you to promise me there's no more running away from us... This is it for me, Kate."

His words coat her trembling heart. A light tension, beautifully bound with the cords of love, settles over her and she knows just how much it cost him to throw his heart on the line, his eyes a strained midnight blue, face contorted in a resplendent mess of emotions.

"I promise," she says resolutely, placing a searing kiss to his parted lips. "You've undone me, Richard Edgar Castle. You've captured my body and marked me forever yours, - both heart and soul... No more running from us," and her heart skyrockets at the realization she truly means the words.


	23. Chapter 23

**This may come as a surprise, but this is the last chapter of the story. Diamond has consumed my thoughts since April and it's time for Kate to reemerge. :) I want to thank each and every one of you for the ThriLLinG ride, &amp; all the support and encouragement along the way for this very AU story.**

**I do apologize for the ending feeling rushed. ****If you'd like more of Diamond's backstory, please PM me as I'm happy to share.**

***I will post a short epilogue next week which completes the story.* **

**...**

He finds her even hotter behind the wheel of his Ferrari.

Her hair's pulled back in a high ponytail, emphasizing her exquisite bone structure and she's wearing a pair of blue tinted, Victoria Beckham sunglasses, making her appear more classically beautiful, down-to-earth. He's come to love this natural look about her because it's truly Kate Beckett, - not the edgy, fierce, sex-symbol Diamond trying to make every man in the room notice her...

She smiles like she's having the time of her life driving his $150,000 car and it's beyond dazzling, rivaling even the brilliance of the New Year's Eve ball dropping in Times Square.

He's so enamored with the real Kate Beckett before him that he doesn't even cringe when she grinds the gears while shifting the car from third into fourth gear, just quirks an eyebrow at her and throws her a look that he knows she's doing it on purpose to get a rise out of him.

"Be careful with my baby," he drones and she just laughs, - a throw your head back, joyous sound that bubbles out of her chest and into his senses, making him want to grab the wheel and pull over on the side of the road and taste that laughter through her sultry mouth.

"And here I thought I was your baby," she teases and her hand skids high up on his left thigh, fingers streaming over the hard muscle.

"Ohh, you mean way more to me than that."

"How about I let you prove it to me later today?"

"Find a secluded area and pull over," he purrs with a raging grin that is about to match his raging hard on, "and I will show you right now."

"Didn't your mother ever teach you any patience?"

"Of course she did, but where you're concerned, it seems to be in short supply."

"Mmm, it certainly worked to your benefit last night as you were _deliciously_ impatient."

Oh Gawd, she said the word 'deliciously' in a sinful Russian accent that has so many naughty possibilities.

_Add Russian spy to the fantasy list, _he notates mentally._ Current count, 97._

"And here I thought my restraint should be rewarded... You, dressed like a Catholic school girl in a tight, white button down and a very-mini pleated skirt, that allows just a peek of your red lace undies beneath, would have any man on this planet **very **impatient."

She pats his leg affectionately and jabs, "We'll just have to work on that undesirable trait of yours."

"I'll show you undesirable," he growls and the next moment he's palming her crotch, fingers clinging to her dark washed jeans, while his lips nibble on the shell of her ear.

"Have I told you lately how much I love seeing you dressed casually? You certainly know how to rock a pullover blouse and those size-too-small-have-to-be-poured-into-skinny-jeans."

She murmurs with a touch of sensuality, "You love me in anything, Bad-Boy."

"Or more specifically, I love you **out **of anything."

It was so easy between them, this give and take, the back and forth, the sexy innuendos and he almost lets it slip that he's falling madly, desperately in love with her.

Almost, but now it isn't the right time... yet.

She'd been more affectionate last night after they'd had sex, snuggling up to his bare back with her arm thrown over his chest, drawing lazy patterns on his pecs while kissing the back of his shoulder, asking him if he could drag himself away from writing for a few hours today so she could take him somewhere special.

And in that moment, for the first time in three months since they'd started dating, Rick felt like there were no barriers between them, no longer a difficult obstacle course he'd have to traverse, no more stumbling through a complicated maze filled with dead ends, and no more digging through debris to try and reach her, but just a rare openness he knows she's never felt with any other man.

He's giddy with the knowledge that Katherine Beckett has finally fallen under his wiles and is allowing him into her life without reservation.

It had been a slow process peeling away the Beckett onion, but the journey had been well worth it. The twists and turns, the ups and downs, the ins and outs of their relationship had made him a better man and he honestly can't see his life now without her a part of it. She's as essential as the air he breathes.

He'll never forget the day, early on in their relationship, when she finally opened up about her tattoo, the meaning behind it, the inscription on her mother's tombstone... Johanna, the woman who lived her life fighting for the "little guy", a true 'champion of the underdog' and how she instilled those traits into her only child.

Kate's face had lit up as she'd regaled him of tales of her youth, her incomparable happiness growing up with two loving, overprotective parents who always put her first in their lives.

"My mother was never happier in her life than when I received my acceptance letter into Stanford Law school," she told him softly. "I'll never forget her face when I read her the letter. She threw her arms around me and tugged me close, knocking the air out of my lungs, holding me tighter than she had ever held me before... She said, "Katie bug, I'm so honored you're choosing to follow in my footsteps. I've never been prouder in my entire life."

Her eyes had filled with tears as she'd told him about her Mother's senseless murder, how one wintry night in early January 1999 had turned her world upside down and inside out, left her feeling completely shattered, - cold, dark and empty.

All the happiness and joy of her first semester at Stanford was replaced by immense, unbearable sorrow and agony... Her world as she officially knew it had completely crumbled and would never be the same again.

The day that her mother's murder was passed off as 'gang related' was the turning point in her life. She quit Stanford, enrolled in the NYC Police Academy and determined no man would do better than her in **any** area. She was the first one in the gym and the last to leave, spent hours in rigorous self defense classes, honing her skills, running five miles more per day than the rest of the applicants and hired a personal tutor so she could ace the tests.

Who would've thought with her drive, (dare she say, obsession?) plus all the time, effort and energy she put into the course that she'd fail the Psychiatric test?

He could sense her heartache as she spoke about the betrayal she felt after not passing the Psych exam, after losing the opportunity to find justice and peace for her mother, let alone the countless other victims families she may have given closure to.

He understood her spiraling downward after failing the academy, the utter despair and hopelessness she felt in her life.

She didn't embellish her time on the streets, just briefly mentioned being pulled in and Rick was okay with that, knowing eventually she'd have the courage to open up to him and reveal everything.

At an all time low in her life, left bloody and beaten by two twisted cousins, she'd called on Captain Montgomery who had come to her aid and taken her to the hospital. He had ended up saving her from herself, pulling her from a very dark place, stepped in and offered her a rare opportunity, - a life off the streets where she could utilize those skills she'd learned in the Academy and help bring down white collar scum whose wealth or status made them practically untouchable.

And _no, _Rick didn't tell how his heart leaped at the knowledge she was a Criminal Informant and how seriously amazing and fuckin hot it was in his eyes, all he'd done was stay silent, his gaze never wavering from hers, listening intently as she told him how rare it was in the business to have a truly good pimp and how she felt safe under the care of her trusted bodyguard.

And now, here they were, embarking on a new relationship that some would say was very unorthodox and difficult to swallow... He, a famous mystery novelist, dating exclusively a high-end Escort.

He was grateful she'd agreed to his conditions of her keeping her job. He'd asked her implicitly to please keep all of her rules, and she'd smiled alluringly, leaning into him to peck his cheek. "Don't worry, Writer Man, I've kept true to those rules since day one of being on Ryan's books and that will never change."

He scanned her face, the noticeable beauty mole adorning her lower left cheek, the light scattering of freckles covering her nose, her unique hazel orbs that on some days seemed more murky brown, but right then, they were clear, bright hazel, focused entirely on him.

His hand cupped her chin as he asked nervously, "And I need you to come back to me after every date... Please don't think I'll be expecting you to jump into bed with me, or expecting a make-out session or any sexual favors period, but I do need to be able to hold you, to feel you in my arms and know without a doubt that you've chosen me over any number of them."

Her eyes had softened, glistened and she'd grasped him behind his neck, pulling him close, her lips just a hair-breadth from his. "Always, Rick. I'll always come back to you."

Her kiss had been filled with the sweet promise of fun-filled days and erotic, passionate nights.

She'd seen two clients since they officially started dating and then had told both Montgomery and Ryan that she needed a break from the business, refusing the long-term assignment of getting close to Doctor Davidson as she needed time to explore whatever was happening between them, - and for right now, it's more than enough.

Her burner phone can barely be heard above the roar of the Ferrari. When she notices who's calling her, a girly grin splits her lips.

She doesn't even say, 'hello' to the person on the other end of the line. Just blurts out, "Have you gotten the nerve yet to ask Jenny to marry you?"

After a couple of minutes listening to Ryan go on and on about how it just isn't the right time yet, and how he can't seem to find the perfect ring, and yes, it's definitely going to happen and soon, Kate chuckles, "Uh-huh... I'll believe it when I see it. You're nothing but a big fat chicken."

She nods her head at Ryan's response, looking at Rick slyly, and by the, 'Don't-I-know-it,' self-assured look on her face, he suspects what's coming next.

"Maybe you should get a couple of tips from Castle. He's an expert at proposing... Don't you dare take advice from him though about making a marriage last."

He glares at her through hooded eyes and jests, "You're going to owe me for that little dig."

Kate obviously doesn't like the reason behind Ryan's call as her face scrunches up in that cute little manner he knows so well, betraying her discomfort.

"What an egotistical douche! Tell Mister Vaughn that money can not buy everything... Especially me... I can recommend a new Escort whom I know he'll like, but his business dealings with me are officially **over.**.. Tell him - " and she glances over Castle's way, an I-know-exactly-how-to-get-you-riled-up grin gracing her features, "to only contact me if he'd ever like Richard Castle's autograph for his mother."

She laughs at Ryan's response and is having way too much fun at his expense, but he can't seem to care because she's just blown off thee Eric Vaughn.

_For him _and God, he could simply tear off those high-fashion sunglasses right now and kiss her senseless until the traffic behind them starts honking, interrupting their private interlude.

She hangs up with Kevin and states, "Ryan likes you, you know."

"He does?" Rick asks slightly astonished and then quickly recovers with, "And here I thought I was Esposito's favorite."

"Esposito thinks you're not man enough to handle me but Ryan is partial to the little boy in you, believes I need a man who's in touch with his inner child."

"I certainly fall into that category," he chuckles. "I knew there was a reason I liked the stalwart Irishman, but I'm going to have to have a serious talk with that beefy bodyguard of yours... Convince him I'm the right man for you... So, just to clarify, I'm too prissy for Esposito's tastes, and yet Ryan thinks my boyish charms are exactly what your frosty persona needs?"

"Something like that," and her eyes roll expressively. "You'd better be careful with your adjectives, Mister Castle, or you may be privileged to witness my 'frostiness' firsthand."

"There are thousands of adjectives I could use to describe you," and his lips quirk in that adorable manner that is uniquely him. "Remarkable, frustrating, maddening, challenging ... "

"Keep it up and you won't be spending time with this maddening, frustrating, challenging woman for much longer."

"You forgot 'remarkable' but stop interrupting me," he chides, "and let me finish... You're the most intelligent, stunning, captivating woman I've met in well -" his eyes cascade over her face lovingly, "forever, Kate."

"Define forever," she asks, gleefully roaring the engine while it's in neutral.

"Let's just say neither of my two ex wives can hold a candle to your beauty, grace, or fearlessness."

"Hmm, I can see why women fall at your feet. Besides the allure of a man knowing he's a pretty boy and using that quality to his best asset, - " she promptly hushes his objections to being called a 'pretty boy' and continues eagerly, "your mouth is simply a **weapon."**

"I happen to like your train of thought here."

"Shh! Stop interrupting me," and she gives him the same, distinct, teasing glare he'd given her earlier. "A weapon of wit, manipulation and coercion, - " she almost laughs outright at his droopy, pouty expression, - "annd," she drew the word out playfully, "with the unmistaken ability to make a woman swoon where she stands." Her eyes careen to his lips, "among other salacious things."

"I love it when you talk dirty."

She slows the Ferrari down, pulling into the parking stall at their destination and husks, "There's more where that came from."

**...**

It's a beautiful sunny day, the wind blowing slightly, rustling through the multi colored leaves.

Her hand is squeezing his tightly, almost as if she's afraid to let it go.

She's quiet as she leads him along the asphalt path, dotted with bright color. The smell of blooming cherry trees plus an assortment of flowers fills his nostrils. Helium balloons and miniature American flags dance erratically in the breeze. In the distance, he sees a lovely Christus statue welcoming them.

Her thumb rolls along the back of his hand before she suddenly stops, turns to him and with emotion lacing her tone, says, "Give me a minute please. Wait here."

Her lips slide against his stubbly jaw and she whispers, "Thank you for being here with me," before drawing away from him.

She kneels down in front of a vertical, dark grey tombstone and her hand slides across the inscription, Vincit Omnia Veritas, before placing the single red rose she brought with her at the base of the stone.

Her lips begin moving and his heart swells with the knowledge that she finally feels close enough to him to bring him to the cemetery where Johanna's buried.

**...**

"Mom, I'm sorry it's been so long since I visited. Life certainly hasn't taken me in the direction I thought it would twelve years ago. How I wish - " and she stills, swallowing back the tears threatening to fall. "You know, I didn't believe you at seventeen when you said that someday an amazing guy would trample his way into my life, capture my heart and make me, Rebel Becks, believe in happily-ever-after... Over the years, I honestly thought I didn't need a man, could go through life as a confidant free spirit, Miss Independent without a care in the world, - but I've finally met _him, _and he's everything you said he'd be, plus so much more." She sat back on her haunches, feeling a sense of 'lightness' that she hadn't felt In years. "You know exactly who I'm talking about, Mom, and I have to thank you, because I know you had a hand in bringing Rick into my life.

I can see you up there," her eyes tilt towards the sky, "laughing at my predicament, throwing your favorite, playboy author, Richard Castle in my path, knowing he's the one man who would have the power to see through my bullshit, smash my walls and thaw my heart.

So I'm here before you," she swipes at a tear tumbling beneath her glasses, "humbly thanking you, Mom, for bringing him into my life... He's the first person since your death who's made any semblance out of my broken world, brought true happiness into my life, given me hope for the future whereas before, there was nothing... Only a stifling fog clouding my vision and hindering my way, whereas now, I see a beautiful future, one filled with love and laughter and the possibility of dreams long forgotten coming true.

I wanted you to be the first to know, even before I reveal it to him, that I love him... I'm in love with Richard Edgar Castle... I love everything about him, from his thick sandy hair and beautiful blue eyes to his broad nose and large feet. From his cocky, know-it-all attitude and childish petulance, to his funny nature and generous, benevolent, and ever forgiving heart... I never in a million years thought it could feel so wonderful, so incredibly right."

She kissed her fingertips softly and touched her mother's name, "I wish you were here to spend time with him as he's everything you ever dreamed of for me."

She turned slowly to Rick then, ushering him towards her, grateful she's wearing sunglasses to hide her watery eyes.

As she watched his cocky gait and sizzling-sexy-smile, she'd swear she heard Johanna's tender voice floating in the breeze, "Kate, you've met your one and done."


	24. Epilogue

**Special thanks goes out to KiwiOCD for the incredible contributions to this chapter. And deep thanks to all the male fans in Diamond's life... *You know who you are* ;)**

**...**

She bursts through his doorway like a tornado, whipping through his loft with hurricane speed, hurtling herself into his arms, those magnificent legs wrapping around his torso, her arms clinging to his neck, and she's kissing him everywhere she can reach, - his forehead, his eyes, his nose and she's breathing, "Oh my God, thank you, Castle. Thank you. I know it was you. How will I ever repay you?"

When her lips finally settle on his in a searing kiss, commanding and carnal, his mind races to catch up to his body.

_Jesus_, he's like a teenager again. Getting hard with just the sound of her voice and with her legs wrapped around him so fuckin' erotically, his groin immediately responds, - twitching, jumping, growing inside his pants as arousal courses through his veins.

Her tongue's darting and mapping out the inner cavern of his mouth, tasting every crevice she can reach and with a mewling sound he's quickly becoming attune to, she tightens her grip, ankles crossing around his ass, pressing her core harder against his groin.

"Thank you, Richard Castle," and her voice is thick with emotion, tears pooling in her eyes. "I'm the luckiest woman on the planet to have you a part of my life. How do I deserve you?"

"Hey," and his eyes rove tenderly over her face. "Every morning I wake up and say to myself, _'How the hell do I deserve_ such an extraordinary woman in my life?' And I'm just so grateful, Kate... Grateful you decided to open up to me six months ago and let me into your life and give this lonely Playboy author a chance... I worried for so long that you couldn't believe in the possibility of us."

"We're quite a pair, aren't we?" she chuckles, fighting not to let the moisture fall from her eyes.

"That's the understatement of the decade." His head falls and drops to her forehead. "I'm going to have to find ways of making you feel indebted to me if this is your natural way of thanking me," he smirks, "but honestly, I don't know what you're talking about."

"MmHmm," she murmurs against his lips, her tongue swiping across the plump flesh. "I'm thanking you for this," and she unwraps her legs, sliding sensuously down his body before pulling out of her back pocket a crumpled letter.

She shoves it in his hands and asks brazenly, "Is Martha or Alexis around?"

"No, and I don't expect them for another two hours."

"Wonderful," and she winks shamelessly at him. "Read it while I freshen up."

He can't help watching her Chrissy Teigan ass as she walks away from him, all lush curves heading into the guest bath and by God, he truly is thankful she walked away from her Escort life for _him._

He opens up the letter and his smile glimmers on the edge of breaking free as he sees the New York Police Department logo.

**Dear Miss Beckett,**

**I am writing to you regarding your status as a former recruit at the New York Police Department Academy.**

**Our records show that you were a member of the 2002 recruit intake and attended the New York Police Department's academy from March 2002 to November 2003.**

**Your performance and scores were in the top ten percent of your class and according to your instructors showed considerable potential for service as a sworn officer in the NYPD.**

**However, despite your high performance and outstanding marks you were not selected for graduation following issues identified during your physiological profile. The review at the time was judged sufficient in the opinion of the advising psychiatrist to disqualify you from graduating and gaining acceptance into the NYPD.**

**It has recently come to our attention that the psychological review may well have been flawed, and an incorrect assessment made in your case. The medical practitioner responsible for your review has subsequently been found guilty of lapses of judgment which bring into question his analysis regarding your assessment. Doctor Oliver Hilliard is currently the subject of disciplinary action by his relevant professional standards body.**

**In recognition of the possible inaccurate assessment which resulted in you being ruled ineligible to graduate, the NYPD would like to offer you the opportunity to reapply to join as a police recruit.**

**Given that it's been almost a decade since you first applied, it would be understandable if your life choices led you away from law enforcement. If this is the case, we wish you all the best with your new career.**

**However, if you still believe you have the necessary skills and drive to become a New York City Police Officer and would like to serve the citizens of this great city, I invite you to reapply.**

**Regrettably, due to the extended interval between your first attendance and now, you will be required to complete a full recruit training program.**

**If you wish to discuss this opportunity or require further information please contact me directly.**

**Eric Ewells**

**Director of Recruitment**

**One Police Plaza**

**New York, NY 10038**

**646-610-5000**

Kate strolls out of the restroom just as he's finishing the letter, and he throws her a, you-are-the-light-of-my-life-woman-of-my-dreams, devastating grin as he waves the paper gaily in the air. "And why would you be thanking a-famous-writer-who's-permanently-off-the-market for this, Miss Katherine Beckett?"

"Don't you bat those big blue innocent eyes at me. You can deny it all you want, Writer-Man, but your sexy fingerprints are all over this."

"I refuse to say whether or not I had a hand in bringing Doctor Hilliard, A.K.A. Doctor-God-Complex, to the attention of the New York Psychiatric Board."

"Uh-huh, you can refuse all day long to admit anything, but I know better." Her slender fingers grasp at his waistband and slide along the material, pulling him closer. "You had better start practicing calling me, _Beckett,_ because I'm going to take the Academy and New York City by storm... I plan on being the first woman police officer in New York's history to rise to the rank of Detective in less than three years."

"I absolutely adore the sound of, _Detective Beckett_."

"You'd better, because I'm going to make sure that dream of mine becomes a reality."

As he looks into her mesmerizing eyes, sees splatters of gold flecking her green irises, the undeniable aura of happiness shining through her orbs, an overwhelming surge of desire blankets his entire frame.

He wants her.

Here, now.

Naked.

Slow, intense and hard.

"Thank you, Rick," she purrs and dips her head shyly, fiddling with the hem on his shirt, before the words come tumbling out of her mouth he's been waiting for months to hear.

"I am outrageously, ridiculously, head-over-heels in love with you."

He gapes, his tongue tied in knots as her words sink in and suffuse his blood with heat, melting his large frame under the warmth of her stare.

"I love you too. **So**. **Damn**. **Much**. More than I ever thought possible."

...

They don't say another word.

Lips collide, fingers skim.

Long highlighted strands stream through his fingers.

Fingers clutch and delve.

Clothes fall.

Breath mingles.

Nipples pebble against calloused palms.

Caressing.

Sliding.

Delicious moans fill the silence.

Hearts beat in rapid cacophony.

Stuttered pleas.

Her body fades against his like a gossamer wish, delicate and sweet and everything he's ever been afraid to dream of with his past two failed marriages.

As he watches Kate's moonlit-dappled face transform into pure radiant passion, he realizes all the ups and downs they've been through, all the raw emotion and heartache were well worth the risk.

For with her, knowing he's the catalyst in the transformation from Diamond into Katherine Beckett is literally everything.

And it always will be.


End file.
